THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT 
of 

C.   Prank  Pox 


APPLETONS'  POPULAR  LIBRARY 

OF  THE  BEST  AUTHORS. 


A  JOURNAL  OF  SUMMER  TIME  IN 
THE  COUNTRY. 


I  find  one  book  of  observations,  begun  in  the  year  1646,  wherein  I  have 
noted  many  useful  tilings,  having  the  word  ETERNITY  at  the  top  of  many 
pages,  by  the  thought  of  which  I  was  quickened  to  spend  my  time  welL 
It  Is  a  great  comfort  to  me  now,  in  my  old  age,  to  find  that  I  was  so  diligent 
in  my  youth ; — for  in  those  books  I  have  noted  how  I  spent  my  time. 
BISHOP  PATRICK,  Autobiography. 

J-.  There  is  no  saying  shocks  me  so  much  as  that  which  I  hear  very 
often  : — That  a  man  does  not  know  bow  to  pass  his  time.  'Twould  have 
been  ill  spoken  by  Methusalem  in  the  nine  hundred  and  sixty -ninth  year  of 
his  life.  . . .  But  if  any  man  be  so  unlearned  as  to  want  entertainment  of  the 
little  intervals  of  accidental  solitude  which  frequently  occur  in  almost  all 
conditions,  it  is  truly  a  great  shame  both  to  his  parents  and  himself.  For  a 
very  small  portion  of  any  ingenious  art  will  stop  up  all  those  gaps  of  our 
time,  either  music,  or  painting,  or  history,  or  gardening,  or  twenty  other 
things,  will  do  it  usefully  and  pleasantly. 

Cow  LEY,  Of  Solitude. 

Friends,  books,  a  garden,  and  perhaps  his  pen, 
Delightful  industry  enjoyed  at  home, 
And  Nature  in  her  cultivated  trim, 
Dress'd  to  his  taste,  inviting  him  abroad. 

COWPEK,  Task  B.  IIL 


A  JOUKNAL 


OF 


SUMMER    TIME 


THE    COUNTRY. 


BY    THE 


REV.   ROBERT    ARIS    WILLMOTT, 

INCUMBENT  OF   BEAK   WOOD,   BERKS; 
AUTHOR  OF   "JEREMY  TATLOB,   A   BIOGRAPHY." 


NEW-YORK : 
D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY,  200  BROADWAY. 

M.DCCC.I.II. 


TO 

HIS    SISTERS, 

WITH  DEEPEST  LOVE  AND  THANKFULNESS, 

THIS 
JOTTBNAL  OP  SUMMER  TIME 

3s  Snsttibtfr, 

BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


785566 


JOURNAL 

OF 

SUMMER  TIME  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 


MAY  1st. — Gray  always  sketched  upon  the  spot 
the  general  features  of  a  landscape,  and  advised  his 
friends  to  do  the  same.  "  You  have  nothing,"  he 
wrote  to  one,  "  but  to  transcribe  your  little  red 
books,  if  they  are  not  rubbed  out ;  for  I  conclude 
you  have  not  trusted  anything  to  memory,  which  is 
ten  times  worse  than  a  lead  pencil."  The  wish  is 
felt  by  every  reader,  that  Gray  had  given  us  more 
of  his  own  diaries ;  or  had  composed  them  on  a  dif 
ferent  principle.  His  stories  of  home-travel,  com 
municated  to  Dr.  Wharton,  are  incomparable.  But, 
for  the  most  part,  he  hid  his  sweet  and  learned 
thoughts  in  his  own  bosom.  Golden  days  in  the 
country  were  lost  in  critical  inquiries  respecting  in 
sects  and  plants ;  or  in  talk  with  fishermen  about 
uncertain  fins  and  scales. 


8  JOURNAL    OF 


Johnson,  in  his  Scottish  tour,  uses  an  awful  word 
to  express  the  blending  and  decay  of  objects  in  the 
mind  : — "  Many  particular  features  and  discrimina 
tions  are  confused  and  conglobated  into  one  gross 
and  general  idea."  The  landscape  of  thought  is  not 
less  shifting  and  changeable  than  that  of  nature. 
Both  may  be  fixed  or  revived.  A  few  scratches — a 
word  of  commentary  or  abridgment — will  often 
serve  to  raise  a  remembrance  of  the  beauty  they 
represent,  and  even  to  recall  the  colouring  and  light 
of  the  original  view  or  description.  An  early  He 
brew  custom  appears  to  be  the  journal  in  an  alle 
gory.  After  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem,  when  a 
Jew  had  passed  the  examination  of  his  teacher,  he 
took  a  raised  seat,  and  a  writing-tablet  was  put  before 
him,  to  signify  that  he  ought  to  record  his  acquisi 
tions,  and  not  suffer  them  to  fade  away  unimproved. 

In  the  same  spirit,  Sir  Thomas  Bodley  wrote  to 
Bacon :  "  Strain  your  wits  and  industry  soundly,  to 
instruct  yourself  in  all  things  between  heaven  and 
earth,  which  may  tend  to  virtue,  and  wisdom,  and 
honour ;  and  let  all  these  riches  be  treasured  up,  not 
only  in  your  memory,  where  time  may  ripen  your 
stock,  but  rather  in  good  writings  and  books  of  ac 
count,  which  will  keep  them  safe  for  your  use  here 
after."  I  have  not  forgotten  Swift's  satiric  lesson 
to  a  young  author,  how,  with  an  empty  head  and  full 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  9 

common-place  book,  he  might  boldly  start  up  a  giant 
of  erudition  and  capacity,  encyclopaedic  and  un 
fathomable.  A  book  of  thoughts,  not  extracts,  is 
proposed.  And  it  is  pleasant  to  recognize  the  prac 
tice  in  scholars  of  ancient  days :  "  Sometimes  I 
hunt,"  said  Pliny.  "  but  even  then  I  carry  with  me 
a  pocket-book,  that  while  my  servants  are  busied  in 
disposing  the  nets  and  other  matters,  I  may  be  em 
ployed  in  something  that  may  be  useful  to  me  in 
my  studies  ;  and  that,  if  I  miss  my  game,  I  may  at 
least  bring  home  some  of  my  thoughts  with  me,  and 
not  undergo  the  mortification  of  having  caught  no 
thing."  Beethoven  walked  in  the  streets  of  Vienna 
with  his  tablet  in  his  hand. 

The  sudden  gushes  of  fancy  are  often  the  bright 
est.  Not  that  the  common-places  are  to  be  neglect 
ed  :  they  form  an  important  episode  in  the  narra 
tive  of  intellectual  progress.  If  a  book  be  a  har 
vest-field,  there  must  be  a  gathering  of  sheaves  into 
the  garner.  PARADISE  LOST  and  the  TRANSFIGURA 
TION  grew  out  of  the  gleanings  of  memory.  The 
collections  of  a  morning  walk  become  the  memo 
randa  of  the  painter.  Gainsborough  formed  land 
scape  models  upon  his  table  ;  broken  stones,  herbs, 
and  fragments  of  glass  expanded  into  rocks,  trees, 
and  water. 

Few  men  of  genius  have  taken  the  trouble  of 


JOURNAL    OF 


recording  their  feelings  or  studies.  One  or  two  pre 
cious  legacies  have  perished  by  accident  or  design. 
But  when  the  full  light  is  wanting,  an  unexpected 
illumination  frequently  breaks  over  a  character,  from 
a  passage  in  the  published  works  of  the  author.  A 
page  of  the  journal  is  broken  up,  and  melted  into 
the  poem,  or  essay.  Shakspere's  sonnets  are  a  chap 
ter  of  autobiography,  although  unreadable  till  criti 
cism  finds  the  key.  Raffaelle's  drawings  were  his 
diary;  Shenstone's  garden,  his  confessions.  Cow- 
per's  letters  and  Wordsworth's  poetry  reflect  the 
features  of  their  writers,  as  face  answers  to  face  in 
water. 

The  notion  of  a  journal  implies  variety.  Gray 
confessed  that  his  reading  ranged  from  Pausanias  to 
Pindar ;  mixing  Aristotle  and  Ovid,  like  bread  with 
cheese.  He  might  have  sheltered  himself  under  a 
noble  example.  Lord  Bacon  considered  it  neces 
sary  to  contract  and  dilate  the  mind's  eyesight; 
regarding  the  interchange  of  splendour  and  gloom 
as  essential  to  the  health  of  the  organ.  The  reader 
may  test  the  rule  by  trying  it  on  his  natural  eyes. 
In  a  gorgeous  summer  day,  let  him  come  suddenly 
from  a  thick  screen  of  branches,  turning  his  face 
towards  the  sun,  and  then  to  the  grass.  Every  blade 
be  reddened,  as  if  a  fairy  procession  had  gone 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  11 

by.     The  colour  is  not  in  the  grass,  but  in  the  eye  ; 
as  that  contracts,  the  glare  vanishes. 

Subject  the  mental  sight  to  a  similar  experiment. 
After  wandering  in  the  dim  recesses  of  history  or 
metaphysics,  let  the  inward  eye  be  lifted  to  the 
broad,  central,  glowing  orbs  of  Shakspere,  Milton, 
or  Hooker,  and  immediately  cast  down  upon  the 
common  surface  of  daily  life.  Objects  become  hazy 
and  discoloured ;  the  dilation  of  the  nerve  of  thought 
dazzles  and  bewilders  the  vision.  It  is  wise,  there 
fore,  to  familiarize  the  seeing  faculty  of  the  under 
standing  to  different  degrees  of  lustre.  Sunshine 
and  twilight  should  temper  one  another.  Despise 
nothing.  After  Plato  take  up  Keid ;  closing  Dante, 
glance  at  TVarton  ;  from  Titian  walk  away  to  K.  du 
Jardin.  The  student  is  like  the  floating  honey- 
gatherers  of  Piedmont  and  France — 

Careless  his  course,  yet  not  without  design. 

So  through  the  vales  of  Loire  the  bee-hives  glide, 

The  light  raft  dropping  with  the  silent  tide. 

If  a  letter  be  conversation  upon  paper,  a  journal   .    V 
is  a  dialogue  between  the  writer  and  his  memory.  / 
Now  he  grows  red  with  Horace,  scolding  the  inn 
keeper  because  the  bad  water  had  taken  away  his 
appetite ;  and  before  the  strife  of  tongues  has  sub 
sided,  he  sits  down  with  Shakspere.  under  a  chest- 


12  .     JOURNAL    OF 


nut-tree  in  Sir  Thomas  Lucy's  park.  Thoughts 
must  ever  be  the  swiftest  travellers,  and  sighs  are 
not  the  only  things  wafted  "from  Indus  to  the  Pole" 
in  a  moment.  Most  people  are  conscious  sometimes 
of  strange  and  beautiful  fancies  swimming  before 
their  eyes : — the  pen  is  the  wand  to  arrest,  and  the 
journal  the  mirror  to  detain  and  fix  them.  The 
mind  is  visited  with  certain  seasons  of  brightness  ; 
remote  events  and  faded  images  ,are  recovered  with 
striking  distinctness,  in  sudden  flashes  and  irradia 
tions  of  memory ;  just,  to  borrow  a  very  striking 
illustration,  as  the  sombre  features  and  minute  ob 
jects  of  a  distant  ridge  of  hills  become  visible  in  the 
strong  gleams  of  sun,  which  fall  on  them  for  an  in 
stant,  and  then  vanish  into  darkness.  My  own  jour 
nal  affords  a  faint  impression  of  the  advantages  and 
charms  of  which  that  form  of  writing  is  susceptible. 
But  the  instrument  itself  is  not  affected  by  the  faults 
of  the  exhibitor.  We  are  not  to  deny  the  transpa 
rency  of  a  glass,  because  the  face  which  it  reflects  be 
plain  or  uninteresting.  Let  the  student  make  the 
attempt,  and  he  may  be  able  to  apply  to  himself  and 
his  friends  the  graceful  recollection  of  Pope  in  his 
epistle  to  Jervas : 

How  oft  in  pleasing  tasks  we  wear  the  day, 
While  summer  suns  roll  unperceived  away. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  13 

MAY  2nd. — At  length,  the  weather  begins  to 
soften  ;  there  is  something  of  "  a  vernal  tone"  in 
the  wind  among  the  fir-trees.  The  time  of  green 
leaves  is  come  again  ;  every  moment  the  day  grows 
lovelier — warm,  cool,  sunshiny,  cloudy.  The  year's 
contraries  melt  into  each  other,  with  a  spirit  of 
beauty  and  bloom  shedding  itself  over  and  through 
out  all,  and  subduing  everything  to  itself.  Thom 
son  chose  such  sweet  airs  and  purple  lights  to  bathe 
his  Castle  of  Indolence, — 

—  a  season  atween  June  and  Mayf 
Half  prankt  with  spring,  with  summer  half  imbrown'd. 

It  is  delicious  now  to  creep  through  the  green 
trees,  and  along  the  scented  hedges, 

Where  blows  the  woodbine  faintly  streaked  with  red, 

until  you  steal  on  the  leafy  haunt  of  the  woodlark. 

There  is  love  in  this  idleness.  I  know  that  for 
mal  John  Wesley  put  a  brand  on  it :  "  never  be  un 
employed,  never  be  triflingly  employed  *  never  while 
away  time."  Such  an  admonition  might  be  expected 
from  one  of  whom  Johnson  left  this  character : 
"  John  Wesley's  conversation  is  good,  but  he  is 
never  at  leisure ;  he  is  always  obliged  to  go  at  a 
certain  hour."  When  Lord  Collingwood  said  that 
a  young  person  should  not  be  allowed  to  have  two 


14  JOURNAL    OF 


books  at  the  same  time,  he  fell  into  a  similar  error 
of  judgment.  Variety  is  the  bloom  of  life ;  sheep 
soon  loathe  the  sweetest  grass  in  the  same  field. 
The  blackbird,  that  pipes  in  the  warm  leaves  before 
my  window,  is  a  witness  against  the  preacher  and 
the  admiral.  He  tired  of  the  lime-shade,  and  is  fin 
ishing  his  song  on  an  apple-branch,  that  swings  him 
further  into  the  sun.  He  wanted  a  change. 

Then  what  is  whiling  away  time  ?  When  Watt 
sat  in  the  chimney-corner,  observing  the  water  force 
up  the  cover  of  the  sauce -pan,  he  aroused  the  anger 
of  his  relations ;  but  he  was  discovering  the  steam- 
eugine.  Sir  Walter  Scott,  walking  one  day  by  the 
banks  of  the  Yarrow,  found  Mungo  Park,  the  tra 
veller,  earnestly  employed  in  casting  stones  into  the 
stream,  and  watching  the  bubbles  that  followed  their 
descent.  "  Park,  -what  is  it  that  engages  your  atten 
tion  ?"  asked  Sir  Walter!  "  I  was  thinking  how 
often  I  had  thus  tried  to  sound  the  rivers  in  Africa, 
by  calculating  the  time  that  elapsed  before  the  bub 
bles  rose  to  the  surface."  "  Then,"  said  Scott,  "  I 
know  that  you  think  of  returning  to  Africa."  "  I 
do,  indeed,"  was  the  reply ;  "  but  it  is  yet  a  secret." 
Such  is  the  idleness  of  genius.  But  people  for  the 
last  eighteen  hundred  years  have  been  finding  fault 
with  it. 

The  uncle  of  Pliny  reproved  him  for  walking ; 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  15 

he  declared  it  to  be  time  lost.  How  much  truer 
\vas  the  confession  of  Warburton  to  his  friend  Hurd: 
"  It  would  have  been  the  greatest  pleasure  to  fawfr 
drop||A  upon  you  at  Newark.  I  could  have  led  you 
through  delicious  walks,  and  picked  off  for  your 
amusement  in  our  rambles  a  thousand  notions,  which 
I  hung  upon  every  thorn  as  I  passed,  thirty  years 
ago."  They  whom  the  world  calls  idle,  are  often 
doing  the  most.  In  villages  and  bye-lanes,  open 
eyes  are  always  learning.  A  garden,  a  wood,  even  a 
pool  of  water,  encloses  a  whole  library  of  knowledge, 
waiting  only  to  be  read — everlasting  types,  which 
Nature,  in  her  great  printing-press,  never  breaks  up. 
And  surely  he  is  happy  who  is  thus  taught ;  for  no 
man  can  afford  to  be  really  unemployed.  The  tree, 
it  has  been  said,  may  lose  its  verdure ;  the  sun  need 
not  count  its  rays ;  because  the  sap  will  strike  out 
new  foliage,  and  another  night  refills  the  treasury  of 
day.  But  the  thinking  faculty  does  not  suffer  waste. 
The  most  saving  and  thrifty  use  of  it  will  only  make 
it  sufficient  for  our  absolute  necessities. 

Pascal  remarks,  that  if  a  man  examine  his 
thoughts,  he  finds  them  to  be  occupied  with  what  is, 
or  is  to  be.  The  past  and  present  are  paths  to  the 
future.  Ainsi,  nous  ne  vivons  j'amais  ;  mats  nous 
esperons  dc  vivre.  A  thought  embodying  the  famous 
line  of  Pope — 


16  JOURNAL    OF 


Man  never  is,  but  always  to  be  blest. 

This  disposition  is  admirable  when  its  aim  is 
improvement ;  when  we  look  to  coming  days  with  a 
hope  of  growing  better  in  them.  The  remembrance 
of  the  succession  of  one  thing  to  another,  i.  e.  of 
what  went  before,  what  followed,  and  what  accom 
panied  it,  is  called  an  experiment.  Many  experi 
ments  make  up  experience ;  which  is  nothing  else 
but  a  recollection  of  what  antecedents  were  followed 
by  what  consequents.  The  definition  belongs  to 
Hobbes.  ^Now  the  experiments  of  life,  which  we 
call  our  experience,  are  only  valuable  as  they  enable 
us  to  shape  what  we  have  to  do,  by  success  or  failure 
in  what  we  have  done.  Unproductive  husbandry 
teaches  us  to  look  about  for  a  wiser  system  of  culti 
vation.  There  must  be  more  weeding,  sowing,  and 
watching  in  our  fields.  When  the  husbandman  goes 
out  to  sow,  we  hear  the  shrill  cry  of  the  village  boys 
scaring  the  birds  from  the  furrows.  The  good  seed 
of  the  mind  is  to  be  guarded  from  vain  thoughts 
descending  with  fiercer  hunger.  Nor  will  our  best 
instruction  be  drawn  from  books.  If  he  who  wishes 
to  be  pathetic  and  eloquent  is  to  look  in  his  heart 
and  write  ;  in  like  manner,  the  scholar  of  time,  com 
pleting  his  education  for  eternity,  will  read  some  of 
his  noblest  lessons  in  the  same  volume,  invisible  to 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  17 

other  eyes,  eVer  open  to  his  own.     And  even  among 
the  fields  and  woodlands,  he  will  still  be  at  school 

MAY  3d  :— 

Oft  on  the  dappled  turf  at  ease, 

I  sit  and  play  with  similes, 

Loose  types  of  things  through  all  degrees. 

This  is  Wordsworth's  plan  and  mine.  I  have 
been  thinking  of  a  new  series  of  parallels  more  en 
tertaining  and  profitable  than  Kurd's — Genius,  Life, 
and  Shadows.  Did  you  ever  spend  a  summer  hour 
in  making  notes  of  shadows,  with  a  view  to  their 
history?  Then  you  would  be  astonished  to  find  how 
the  spreading,  lengthening,  and  vanishing  of  a  sha 
dow,  represent  the  growth,  fulness,  and  decline  of 
genius  or  life.  In  a  green,  overbowered  lane,  where 
birds  shake  dew  and  blossoms  from  the  hedgerows, 
and  spots  of  sun  chequer  the  wayside  grass,  look  for 
your  own  shadow.  At  what  hour  is  it  behind? 
When  the  sun  shines  in  your  face,  your  shadow  is  at 
your  back.  And  has  it  ever  been  otherwise  with 
poet,  painter,  or  man  of  noble  thought  and  magnifi 
cent  enterprise  ?  with  Milton  or  Columbus  ?  Long 
and  wearisome  is  their  road  to  glory ;  steep  and  en 
tangled  is  the  path  towards  the  rising  orb  of  their 
reputation.  They  behold  not  the  shadow  they  cast; 


JOURNAL    OF 


it  stretches  after  them — cheering  others,  not  them 
selves. 

Retrace  your  steps  down  the  glimmering  lane. 
Let  it  be  evening.  What  a  change !  Warm  streaks 
of  light  gild  the  edges  of  bird-homes,  and  sleep  in 
the  dim  hollows  of  mossy  oaks.  Where  is  your 
shadow  now?  It  has  sprung  twenty  feet  before  you. 
as  .  it  were  rushing  up  the  garden,  to  sit  down  in 
the  parlour,  before  you  can  turn  the  corner.  It  is  a 
race  between  you  and  your  shadow ;  but  you  will 
never  overtake  it  while  you  travel  from  the  sun. 
Can  you  make  no  simile  out  of  this  ?  When  the 
day  of  intellectual  life  sets,  and  the  pilgrim  of  poe 
try,  eloquence,  or  art,  walks  away  from  the  glory  of 
the  morning,  where  is  his  shadow  ?  It  is  thrown 
forward  into  the  untrodden  paths  of  the  future.  It 
lengthens  at  every  step,  into  the  rich  orchards  of  a 
remoter  and  sunnier  climate.  You  have  the  history 
of  the  mind's  shadow  in  the  Shakspere  of  the  seven 
teenth  and  nineteenth  centuries. 

But  you  may  still 

—  sit  and  play  with  similes, 

Loose  types  of  things  through  all  degrees. 

In  this  wood-path,  where  the  violets  cluster  so  thick 
under  the  elm,  it  is  curious  to  watch  the  play  of 
leaves  on  the  grass.  When  the  sun  shines,  and  not 


SUMMER   TIME   IN   THE   COUNTRY.  19 

even  a  summer  breath  ruffles  the  boughs,  the  images 
of  trees  lie  unbroken.  The  sharp,  irregular  outline 
of  each  leaf  is  reflected.  But  the  faintest  breeze 
breaks  the  shadow.  The  wing  of  a  bird  drives  an 
other  shade  over  it ;  the  heedless  moth — a  fly — a 
gnat,  disperses  it.  The  trees  of  fancy  and  taste  are 
troubled  by  the  same  accidents.  They  fling  their 
soft  images  of  bloom  over  the  sequestered  walks  of 
thought ;  but  the  slightest  things — the  breath  of 
envy,  the  twinkle  of  popularity — disorder  their 
beauty.  Waller,  for  a  moment,  obscures  Milton ; 
Walpole  buzzes  down  the  sweet  warble  of  Thomson. 
The  shadow  gives  a  parallel  for  a  life  as  well  as 
for  a  genius.  That  man  fleeth  like  a  shadow  and 
never  continueth  in  one  stay,  is  among  the  most 
touching  lessons  of  Holy  Scripture.  Our  kindred, 
not  less  than  our  own  recollections,  illustrate  the 
Prophet  and  the  Psalmist : 

—  for  ever  as  we  run, 
We  cast  a  longer  shadow  in  the  sun ! 
And  now  a  charm,  and  now  a  grave  is  won. 

I  am  pleased  to  trace  out  the  resemblance  in  my 
summer  rambles ;  and  when  I  see  myself  climbing 
the  silver  beech,  and  losing  my  head  in  the  top 
branches,  a  moral  is  not  wanting.  There  is  another 
and  a  livelier  comparison.  Sometimes  I  walk  up 


20  JOURNAL   OP 


to  the  park -paling,  and  endeavour  to  look  my  own 
shadow  in  the  face  ;  but  it  is  gone,  and  the  robin, 

The  pensive  warbler  of  the  ruddy  breast, 

which  sat  on  the  top  and  seemed  to  sing  to  it,  is 
vanished  also.  Here  is  a  simile  full  of  purifying 
truth.  I  remember,  with  good  Arthur  Warwick, 
that  all  our  pleasures  are  shadows,  thrown  by  pros 
perous  sunlight  along  our  journey,  and  ever  deceiv 
ing  and  flying  us  most,  when  most  we  follow  them. 
The  vapoury  form  on  the  mossy  pales,  with  the  robin 
singing  on  its  head,  is  only  the  emblem  of  some 
empty  dream,  that  walks  through  life  by  our  side, 
with  Hope  carolling  above  it,  and  disappearing  when 
Reflection  draws  near,  and  looks  at  it  with  calm 
and  earnest  eye.  And,  while  I  moralize,  the  sun  is 
sinking  fast, 

—  the  slanting  ray, 

From  every  herb  and  every  spiry  blade, 
Stretches  a  length  of  shadow  o'er  the  field. 
Mine,  spindling  into  longitude  immense, 
In  spite  of  gravity  and  sage  remark, 
That  I  myself  am  but  a  fleeting  shade — 
Provokes  me  to  a  smile. 

MAY   4th. — Read  a  discourse  of  John   Smith, 
whom  Coleridge  calls  not  the  least  star  in  the  con- 


SUMMER   TIME   IN   THE    COUNTRY.  21 

etellation  of  Cambridge  men,  the  contemporaries  of 
Taylor.  Smith  was  a  native  of  Achurch,  near  Oun- 
dle,  Northamptonshire.  He  was  a  pupil  of  Which- 
cot,  at  Emanuel.  and  died  before  he  had  completed 
his  thirty-third  year.  Bishop  Patrick,  who  knew 
him  well,  and  preached  his  funeral  sermon,  exclaimed, 
in  the  fervour  of  his  admiration — "  What  a  man 
would  he  have  been,  if  he  had  lived  as  long  as  I  have 
done."  He  declared  that  Smith  "spake  of  God  and 
religion  as  he  never  heard  man  speak."  We  notice 
in  his  thoughts  a  calm  largeness  of  idea,  that  is  very 
impressive.  For  example : — "  All  those  discourses 
which  have  been  written  for  the  soul's  heraldry,  will 
not  blazon  it  so  well  to  us  as  itself  will  do.  When 
we  turn  our  eyes  in  upon  it,  it  will  soon  tell  us  its 
own  royal  pedigree  and  noble  extraction,  by  those 
sacred  hieroglyphics  which  it  bears  upon  itself" 
Again : — "  And  because  all  those  scattered  rays  of 
beauty  and  loveliness  which  we  behold  spread  up 
and  down,  all  the  world  over,  are  only  the  emana 
tions  of  that  inexhaustible  light  which  is  above, 
therefore  should  we  love  them  all  in  that,  and  climb 
up  always  by  those  sunbeams  unto  the  Eternal 
Father  of  Light."  This  thought  is  in  the  Platonic 
spirit  of  Spenser.  And  with  equal  nobleness  of  lan 
guage  he  portrays  the  defaced  condition  of  the 
human  mind ;  its  splendour  darkened,  and  the  hand- 


22  JOURNAL    OP 


writing  of  the  Creator  almost  worn  out.  ':  These 
principles  of  divine  truth  which  were  first  engraven 
on  man's  heart  with  the  finger  of  God  are  now,  as 
the  characters  of  some  ancient  monument,  less  clear 
and  legible  than  at  first."  Coleridge,  in  the  third 
volume  of  his  Literary  Remains,  observes  of  the 
theological  school  of  Smith — "  Instead  of  the  sub 
servience  of  the  body  to  the  mind  (the  favourite 
language  of  our  Sydneys  and  Miltons),  we  hear  no 
thing  at  present  but  of  health,  good  digestion,  plea 
surable  state  of  general  feeling,  and  the  like." 

MAY  5th. — A  country  clergyman,  Mr.  Nowell, 
has  lately  published  some  pleasing  corrections  of  the 
zoology  of  our  poets.  The  subject  is  attractive. 
Perhaps  natural  history,  in  its  varieties  of  field, 
hedge,  and  woodland,  is  the  element  of  decorative 
knowledge  in  which  the  poetical  mind  is  most  defi 
cient.  Even  Thomson  mistook  the  nature  of  the 
gad-fly,  and  spoke  of  its  attack  as  collective,  instead 
of  solitary.  Lord  Byron  compared  Napoleon  at 
Waterloo  to  the  eagle,  "  tearing  with  bloody  beak 
the  fatal  plain  ;"  but  the  illustration  of  Reinagle 
led  him  to  amend  the  description,  because  all  birds 
of  prey  begin  the  assault  with  their  talons.  Milton, 
having  later  lights  of  science,  seems  to  have  been 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  23 

incorrccter  than  Shakspere.     Mr.  Nowell  selects  his 
sketch  of  the  ant — 

The  parsimonious  emmet  provident 
Of  future- 
Ray,  in   1691,  gave  the  earliest  refutation  of  this 
error.     But  our  chief  debt  is  due  to  Huber.     The 
ant  is  known   to  be   almost  entirely  carnivorous  ; 
without   skill  to  build  garners,  or  store  them  with 
food.     Nor  is  the  winter-magazine  necessary  for  the 
support  of  the  insect,  because  the  depth  of  its  nest 
protects  it  from  the  weather,  and  severe  frost  ren 
ders  it  torpid. 

Spenser  and  Milton  give  exquisite  sketches  of 
the  peacock — 

—  fayre  peacocks  that  excel  in  pride, 
And  full  of  Argus  eyes,  their  tayles  dispredden  widt. 

F.  Q.,  B.  L  c.  4. 

—  Th'  other  whose  gay  train 
Adorns  him,  colour'd  with  the  florid  hue 
Of  rainbows,  and  starry  eyes — 

P.  L.,  B.  vii.  414. 

Thomson  very  happily  indicates  the  peculiarity 
of  the  bird's  appearance,  by  saying  that  it  spreads 
its 


24  JOURNAL    OP 


—  Every-colour'd  glory  to  the  sun, 
And  swims  in  radiant  majesty  along. 

When  the  peacock's  train  is  up,  the  head  and 
neck  only  are  visible ;  and,  therefore,  the  poetical 
description  of  its  diffused  lustre  and  beauty  is  very 
lively  and  accurate.  Its  splendid  feathers  grow  up 
the  back. 

Occasionally  the  faithfulness  of  Milton  is  very 
startling,  particularly  in  those  slight  circumstances 
of  zoology,  in  which  poetical  footsteps  are  most 
likely  to  be  caught  tripping.  It  will  be  remembered, 
that  he  represents  Satan  entering  the  Garden  under 
the  form  of  a  bird : 

—  up  he  flew,  and  on  the  tree  of  life 
Sat  like  a  cormorant,  devising  death 
To  them  that  lived. 

Bishop  Stanley  remarks  that  the  poet  could  not  have 
clothed  the  Tempter  in  a  more  appropriate  shape,  as 
the  appearance  of  the  cormorant  is  unearthly  and 
alarming ;  he  notices  "  his  slouching  form,  his  wet 
and  vapid  wings  dangling  from  his  side  to  catch  the 
breeze,  while  his  weird,  haggard,  wildly-staring  eme 
rald-green  eyes,  scowl  about  in  all  directions."  Nor 
was  the  pictorial  fitness  of  the  form  obtained  at  any 
expense  of  zoological  accuracy ;  for,  though  chiefly 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  25 

found  among  water  scenery,  the  cormorant  often 
perches  on  trees.  A  serrated  claw  of  the  middle 
toe,  which  distinguishes  it  from  the  pelican,  enables 
it  to  cling  to  branches. 

It  has  been  said,  that  all  poets,  ancient  and 
modern,  Shakspere  alone  being  excepted,  assign  to 
the  owl  a  melancholy  epithet.  Gray's  "  moping  owl 
does  to  the  moon  complain" — Thomson  shows  "  assi 
duous  in  her  bower  the  wailing  owl" — Shakspere 
gives  the  true  portrait,  when  he  makes  Lennox  say, 
after  the  murder  of  Duncan — 

The  obscure  bird  clamour'd  the  livelong  night ; 

for  the  owl  sleeps  and  hisses  in  the  day,  and  at  night 
hunts  and  screeches.  "  Hooting"  is  not  its  general 
mode  of  expression — not  its  vernacular.  The  moun 
tain-owl  flies  at  night,  whooping  when  perched.  A 
friend  of  Mr.  White,  in  Hampshire,  tried  all  the 
owls  in  his  neighbourhood  with  a  pitch-pipe,  of  the 
sort  used  for  tuning  harpsichords,  and  found  them 
to  hoot  in  B  flat.  But  taste  or  capacity  varies  in 
the  family,  for  the  owls  of  Selborne  range  between 
G  flat,  F  sharp,  B  flat,  and  A  flat.  The  inquiring 
naturalist,  who  has  given  fame  to  that  charming 
village,  once  heard  two  owls  hooting  at  each  other 
in  different  keys — two  Arcadians  indeed. 
2 


26  JOURNAL    OF 


Beattie,  in  four  of  the  most  natural  lines  of 
English  poetry,  has  indicated  the  flight  and  disposi 
tion  of  the  owl.  leaving  on  the  reader's  mind,  at  the 
same  time,  the  solemn  sentiment  of  the  landscape : 

Where  the  scared  owl,  on  pinions  grey, 
Breaks  from  the  rustling  boughs ; 

And  down  the  lone  vale  sails  away, 
To  more  profound  repose. 

The  errors  in  Thomson's  zoology  have  already 
been  remarked,  and  other  examples  might  be  given, 
as  in  the  description  of  the  woodlark  singing  in 
copses  ;  because  its  custom  is  to  warble  on  the  wing 
— not  soaring,  but  circling  round  its  mate. 

For  the  most  part,  however,  his  pencil  catches 
every  colour  and  movement  of  bird  or  beast.  How 
happy  is  the  picture  of  the  rock-pigeon : 

—  beneath  yon  spreading  ash, 
Hung  o'er  the  steep,  whence,  borne  on  liquid  wing, 
Tlie  sounding  culver  shoots. 

The  pigeon  in  full  sweep  gives  a  very  remarkable 
sound.  But  the  picturesque  word,  "  shoots."  had 
been  already  applied  to  the  dove's  flight  by  Dryden, 
in  his  musical  translation  of  the  lines  in  Virgil : — 

At  first  she  flutters;  but  at  length  she  springs 
To  smoother  fliglit,  and  shoots  upon  her  wings. 


SUMMER.   TIME   tit   THE    COUNTRY1.  27 

This  imitative  harmony  was  sure  to  win  the  ear 
of  Coleridge,  from  whose  poetry  many  exquisite 
specimens  might  be  selected.  Take  the  following : 

—  When  the  last  rook 
Beat  its  straight  path  along  the  dusky  air 
Homewards,  I  blest  it  1  deeming  its  black  wing, 
(Now  a  dim  speck,  now  vanishing  in  light) 
Had  crossed  the  mighty  orb's  dilated  glory, 
While  thou  stood'st  gazing ;  or  when  all  was  still, 
Flew  creeping  o'er  my  head. 

The  poet  tells  us  that,  some  months  after  writing 
this  line,  he  found  Bartram  describing  the  same  pe 
culiarity  in  the  Savanna  crane  :  "  When  these  birds 
move  their  wings  in  flight,  their  strokes  are  slow, 
moderate,  and  regular ;  and  even  when  at  a  consider 
able  distance  or  high  above  us,  we  plainly  hear  the 
quill  feathers ;  their  shafts  and  webs  upon  one  an 
other  creek  as  the  joints  or  working  of  a  vessel  in  a 
tempestuous  sea." 

Among  English  poets,  Bloomfield  and  Clare  are 
remarkable  for  faithful  happiness  of  description. 
The  little  portrait  of  the  skylark  by  the  former  has 
fhe  touch  of  life,— 

Yet  oft  beneath  a  cloud  she  sweeps  along, 
Lost  for  awhile,  yet  pours  her  varied  song. 


28  JOURNAL    OF 


He  views  the  spot,  and  as  the  cloud  moves  by, 
Again  she  stretches  up  the  clear  blue  sky; 
Her  form,  her  motion,  undistinguished  quite, 
Save  wfien  she  wheels  direct  from  shade  to  light. 

Coleridge  has  the  same  thought,  uttered  with  in 
ferior  beauty — 

Oft  with  patient  ear 

Long-listening  to  the  viewless  sky-lark's  note, 
Viewless,  or  haply  for  a  moment  seen 
Gleaming  on  sunny  wings. 

The  rural  pictures  of  Clare,  with  less  decoration, 
present  equal  truthfulness  of  colour  and  sound. 
Take  the  following  scene  in  a  summer  evening  walk : 

From  the  hedge,  in  drowsy  hum, 
Heedless  buzzing  beetles  bum, 
Haunting  every  bushy  place, 
Flopping  in  the  labourer1 8  face. 
Now  the  snail  hath  made  his  ring ; 
And  the  moth  with  snowy  wing 
Circles  round  in  winding  whirls, 
Through  sweet  evening's  sprinkled  pearls, 
On  each  nodding  bush  besprent ; 
Dancing  on  from  bent  to  bent ; 
Now  to  downy  grasses  clung, 
Resting  for  a  while  he's  hung ; 
Then  to  feriy  o'er  the  stream, 
Vanishing  as  flies  a  dream ; 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  29 

Playful  still  his  houi-s  to  keep, 
Till  hia  time  has  come  to  sleep ; — 
In  tall  grass  by  fountain's  head, 
Weary  then  he  drops  to  bed. 

Two  of  the  most  pleasing  curiosities  of  poetical 
zoology  which  I  remember,  are  in  Spenser,  who 
describes  an  angel, 

Decked  with  divers  plumes  like  painted  jays  ; 

and  in  Keats,  who  speaks  of  the  dyes  and  stains  of  a 
chapel  window,  rich  and  numberless, 

As  are  the  tiger-moth's  deep  damask'd  winga, 

MAY  6th. — I  find  Archdeacon  Hare  commending, 
with  measureless  praise,  the  genius  of  Mr.  Landor. 
The  judgment  of  Coleridge  comes  nearer  to  my 
taste  : — "  What  is  it  that  Mr.  Landor  wants  to  make 
him  a  poet  ?  His  powers  are  certainly  very  consid 
erable,  but  he  seems  totally  deficient  in  that  modify 
ing  faculty,  which  compresses  several  units  into  one 
whole.  His  poems,  taken  as  wholes,  are  unintelligi 
ble  ;  you  have  eminences  excessively  bright,  and  all 
the  ground  around  and  beneath  them  in  darkness. 
Besides  which,  he  has  never  learned,  with  all  his 
energy,  to  write  simple  and  lucid  English."  The 


30  JOURNAL    OP 


earnest  and  affectionate  applause  of  Southey  should 
be  thrown  into  the  opposite  scale.  His  admiration 
of  Gebir  was  evidently  sincere.  But  a  few  beautiful 
thoughts,  shooting  up  amid  thick  darkness,  offer  to 
most  readers  the  only  allurement  in  Mr.  Landor's 
poetry.  His  descriptions  of  the  shell  that  still  mur 
murs  of  the  ocean,  and  of  the  long  moonbeam  that — 

—  on  the  hard  wet  sand 
Lay  like  a  jasper  column  half  up-rear'd, 

are  quite  enchanting.  Of  every  great  author  in 
prose  or  verse  the  motion  within  certain  variations, 
is  uniform.  When  the  singing  robe  is  put  off,  the 
dweller  of  Olympus  may  be  known  by  his  walk. 
It  is  not  so  with  Mr.  Landor.  He  glitters  in  purple, 
or  hobbles  in  rags;  is  either  a  prince,  or  a  mendicant 
on  Parnassus.  He  altogether  reverses  his  own  char 
acter  of  writers,  who  are  to  circulate  through  ages  to 
come ;  who,  once  "  above  the  heads  of  contempora 
ries,  rise  slowly  and  waveringly,  then  regularly  and 
erectly,  then  rapidly  and  majestically,  till  the  vision 
strains  and  aches  as  it  pursues  them  in  their  ethereal 
elevation."  This  is  precisely  what  he  does  not  per 
form.  Now  and  then  he  disengages  himself  from  the 
lumber  that  clogs  him,  and  begins  to  ascend.  For  a 
moment,  he  goes  up  bravely,  higher  and  higher,  flash- 


SUMMER    TIM  1C    IN    Till:    folNTUY.  31 


ing  abroad  fair  colours  in  the  sunlight,  and  catching 
glimpses  of  towered  cities,  crowded  rivers,  and  spread 
ing  forests.  We  gaze  after  his  flight  with  wonder. 
But  before  we  can  tell  the  story  the  buoyancy  van 
ishes,  and  the  pilgrim  of  the  sun  is  seen  tumbling 
back  to  earth ;  not  with  a  flaming  fall,  but  lifeless, 
powerless,  collapsed — the  breath  of  inspiration  ex 
hausted — to  be  dragged  home  in  gaudy  tatters  and 
defilement.  This  catastrophe  is  to  be  regretted,  in 
proportion  as  the  ascending  impulse  is  strong. 

Some  passages  of  his  prose  are  delightful.  Read 
for  example  the  conversation  of  Sir  Philip  Sydney 
and  Lord  Brooke  at  Penshurst,  which  breathes  the 
wisest  thoughts  in  a  strain  of  music,  winning  and 
serious.  But  the  author  seldom  suffers  our  pleasure 
to  be  without  a  jar.  His  great  deficiency  seems  to 
be  in  taste.  He  wants,  to  an  extraordinary  degree, 
that  bright  faculty  which  colours,  subdues,  shapes,  and 
combines  all  the  treasures  of  imagination.  His  music 
requires  cadence,  his  painting  tone.  A  coarse  satiric 
humour  sometimes  breaks  out.  The  effect  is  most 
painful.  It  is  a  snatch  of  a  political  ballad,  in  the 
intricate  melody  of  Mozart :  it  is  a  sweet  face  of  Mu- 
rillo,  with  a  border  by  Cruikshank. 

MAY  7th. — Coleridge  says,  or  sings,  very  prettily 
of  the  nightingale, 


32  JOURNAL    OF 


—  on  moonlit  bushes, 

Whose  dewy  leaflets  are  but  half  disclosed, 
You  may  perhaps  behold  them  in  the  twigs. 
Tfieir  bright,  bright  eyes,  their  eyes  both  bright  and  full, 
Glistening,  while  many  a  glow-worm  in  the  shade 
Lights  up  her  love-torch. 

In  our  quiet  woods  it  is  not  very  difficult,  even  in 
broad  daylight,  to  see  and  hear  the  nightingale.  This 
morning  I  stood  for  several  minutes  under  the  bough, 
and  watched,  not  only  the  flashing  of  its  "bright, 
bright  eyes,"  but  every  quick  beat  and  pulsation  of 
what  Isaac  Walton  calls  its  "little  instrumental 
throat."  The  exertion,  however,  is  more  conspicuous 
in  the  black  cap,  when  in  garden  or  orchard  it  pours 
forth  its  inward  melody.  The  throat  is  then  dis 
tended  with  the  gush  of  notes.  And  this  intensity 
,,  of  feeling  and  effort  is  sometimes  fatal.  A  thrush 
has  been  known  to  break  a  bloodvessel  in  the  midst 
of  its  music,  and  drop  lifeless  from  the  tree.  Nor  is 
the  story  of  the  nightingale  dying  of  sorrow,  to  be 
considered  a  mere  fiction  of  the  poets.  One  or  two 
instances  of  its  emulative  combats  with  human  mu 
sicians  are  sufficiently  attested. 

It  would  be  curious  to  trace  the  influence  of  cli 
mate  upon  the  song.  Addison,  inviting  young  Lord 
Warwick  into  the  country,  speaks  of  a  concert  in  the 
neighbouring  wood  begun  by  blackbirds  and  concluded 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  33 

by  a  nightingale,  "with  something  of  the  Italian  man 
ner  in  her  divisions."  The  English  bird  is  supposed 
to  possess,  in  a  weaker  degree,  the  continual  warble, 
"  the  linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out,"  of  her  south 
ern  rival.  The  Persian  note  is  affirmed  to  be  the 
sweetest.  The  eastern  nightingale,  or  bulbul,  is,  in 
deed,  of  a  distinct  species,  and  nearly  black  ;  but  the 
same  tone  is  recognized  under  every  change  of  sun 
and  verdure.  The  traveller  can  say — 

—  Oft-,  where  Spring 

Displayed  her  richest  blossoms  among  files 
Of  orange-trees  bedeck'd  with  golden  fruit 
Ripe  for  the  hand,  or  under  a  thick  shade 
Of  Ilex,  or,  if  better  suited  to  the  hour, 
The  lightsome  olive's  twinkling  canopy, — 
Oft  have  I  heard  the  Nightingale  and  Thrush 
Blending  as  in  a  common  English  grove 
Their  love  songs. 

It  is  worth  remarking  that  three  lines  of  Homer 
comprise  all  the  facts  that  later  poets  have  enlarged 
with  regard  to  the  song  and  disposition  of  the  night 
ingale.  He  mentions  its  custom  of  hiding  itself  in  the 
deepest  foliage,  and  marks  that  many-sounding  harmo 
ny  which  gives  to  its  repetitions  their  highest  charm. 
The  nightingale's  peculiar  love  of  wood-shelter  is  well 
expressed  by  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  who  place  it — 

Among  the  thick-leaved  spring. 
2* 


34  .JOURNAL    OF 


I  am  not  sure  that  Coleridge  is  right  in  the 

—  one  low  piping  souud  more  sweet  than  all : 

because  the  note  of  the  nightingale  seems  never  to  be 
low.  Its  full  song  can  be  heard  over  the  diameter  of 
a  mile.  Thomson  happily  preserves  this  character 
istic  : 

—  she  on  the  bough, 
Sole-sitting,  still  at  every  dying-fall 
Takes  up  again  her  lamentable  strain 
Of  winding  love,  till.icide  around  jhe  woods 
Sigh  to  her  song,  and  with  her  wail  resound. 

And  Wordsworth,  modernising  Chaucer : 

In  the  next  bush  that  was  me  fast  beside, 
I  heard  the  lusty  nightingale  so  sing, 
That  her  clear  voice  made  a  loud  rioting, 
Echoing  through  all  the  green  wood  wide. 

Heber  points  out  the  same  quality  in  the  Indian  rela 
tive  : — 

And  what  is  she  whose  liquid  strain 
Thrills  through  yon  copse  of  sugar-cane  ? 
I  know  that  soul-entrancing  swell, 
It  is,  it  must  be,  Philomel. 

Sylvester — among  whose  craggy  recesses  of  wild 
fancy,  the  youthful  hand  of  Milton  gathered  a  few 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  35 

sweet-smelling  flowers — has  noticed  a  pleasing  fea 
ture  of  nightingales  and  their  music ;  they  are  the 
part-singers  of  the  woodlands, — 

Thence  thirty  steps,  amid  the  leafy  sprays, 
Another  nightingale  repeats  her  lays, 
Just  note  for  note,  and  adds  some  strain  at  last 
That  she  had  conned  all  the  winter  past 

It  is  curious  to  observe  how  resolutely,  even  by 
writers  on  natural  history,  the  fabulous  shyness  of 
the  nightingale  is  still  maintained. 

They  who  live  in  the  country  have  daily  opportu 
nities  of  correcting  the  error.  Enveloped  by  the 
greenest  and  shadiest  coppices,  the  nightingale  con 
tinually  selects  a  tree  without  a  leaf,  and  perched 
upon  a  slender  twig,  pours  out  its  choicest  variations. 
It  lives  among  the  leaves,  but  commonly  sings  in 
the  gay  sunshine. 

Thomson's  description  of  the  mother-bird  finding 
her  nest  plundered  and  empty,  and  giving  utterance 
to  her  grief,  is  only  a  poetic  fiction,  though  beauti- 
fullv  imagined : — 

Oft  when  returning  with  her  loaded  bill, 
The  astonished  mother  finds  a  vacant  nest, 
By  the  hard  hand  of  unrelenting  clowns, 
Robbed,  to  the  ground  the  vain  provision  falls ; 
Her  pinions  ruffle,  and,  low-drooping,  scarce 


36  ,     JOURNAL    OP 


Can  bear  the  mourner  to  the  poplar  shade, 
Where  all  abandoned  to  despair,  she  sings 
Her  sorrows  through  the  night 

The  true  account  of  the  nightingale's  song  is 
given  by  the  same  poet,  in  speaking  of  birds  in 
general,  when  copse,  and  tree,  and  flowering  furze, 
are  spotted  with  nests : 

—  The  patient  dam  assiduous  sits, 
Not  to  be  tempted  from  her  tender  task, 
Or  by  sharp  hunger,  or  by  smooth  delight, 
Tliough  the  whole  loosened  spring  around  her  blows; 
Her  sympathising  lover  takes  his  stand 
High  on  th'  opponent  bank,  and  ceaseless  sings 
The  tedious  time  away. 

Among  singing  birds,  the  nightingale  is  unrivalled 
in  the  power  of  sustaining  a  note.  He  is  surpassed 
in  volume  and  compass  of  sound  by  the  Campanero, 
or  Bell-bird.  In  the  silence  of  a  South  American  or 
African  night,  it  begins  to  toll ;  continuing  its  one 
lonely  cry  at  intervals  of  a  minute.  This  toll,  with 
its  measured  mournfulness  of  death,  is  clearly  heard 
at  a  distance  of  three  miles.  But  the  nightingale 
despises  monotony.  Its  song  has  sixteen  different 
burdens,  the  same  passage  being  never  reproduced 
without  some  change  or  embellishment.  This  varie 
gated  harmony  is  described  by  a  French  poet,  B. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY. 


37 


Belleau,  who  lived  in  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  and,  for  the  sweet  touches  of  his  landscapes, 
was  called  the  Painter  of  Nature. 


BELLEAU. 

Le    gcntil    rossignolet    Dou- 

celet, 

Decoupe   dessous    1'ombrage, 
Mille.  fredons  babillars,  Fre- 

tillars, 
Au  doux  chant  de  son  ra- 

mage. 


CART. 

The    little    nightingale    sits 
singing  aye 

On  leafless  spray, 
And  in  her  fitful  strain  doth 

run 

A  thousand  and  a  thousand 
changes, 

With  voice  that  ranges 
Thro'  ev'ry  sweet  division. 


Some  naturalists  have  been  bold  enough  to  write 
down  the  song — to  give  us  the  nightingale's  score. 
The  result  has  been  a  travestie.  It  is  as  if  an  ad 
mirer  of  Laura  had  taken  her  portrait  in  red  ochre, 
and  sent  it  to  Petrarch. 

Poetical  descriptions  of  the  nightingale's  habits 
and  music  have  seldom  been  the  result  of  observa 
tion  and  experience.  The  best  are  by  Walton,  re-| 
cording  "  the  sweet  descant,  the  rising  and  falling, 
the  doubling  and  redoubling  of  her  voice ;"  by  Gold 
smith,  when  he  said  that  the  "pausing  song"  would 
be  the  proper  epithet  of  its  warble ;  by  Southey,  in 
dwelling  on  its  breadth  and  power, 


38  JOURNAL    OF 


—  Her  deep  and  thrilling  song 
Seemed  with  its  piercing  melody  to  reach 
The  soul ; 

By  Coleridge — 

—  Tis  the  merry  nightingale 

That  crowds,  and  hurries,  and  precipitates 
With  thick  fast  warble  his  delicious  notes, 
As  he  were  fearful  that  an  April  night 
Would  be  too  short  for  him  to  utter  forth 
His  love-chant^  and  disburden  his  full  soul 
Of  all  its  music. 

• 
By  Keats,  telling  how — 

—  the  plaintive  anthem  fades 

Past  the  near  meadows,  over  the  still  stream, 
Up  the  hillside,  and  now  'tis  buried  deep 
In  the  next  valley-glade : 

and  more  than  all  by  Milton,  who,  living  during  his 
bright  and  happy  youth  among  the  leafy  villages  of 
Buckinghamshire,  was  familiar  with  the  nightingale 
in  all  hours  of  summer  days  and  nights,  and  is  never 
weary  of  introducing  her.  But  it  is  observable,  that 
he  always  associates  the  song  with  meditation  and 
pensiveness.  L' Allegro  looks  through  the  sweet- 
brier  that  clusters  about  the  window  at  the  lark 
soaring  upwards — 


SUMMER.    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  39 

From  his  watch-tower  in  the  skies, 
Till  the  dappled  dawn  doth  rise. 

II  Penseroso  walks  unseen  along  the  wood-path,  lis 
tening  to  the  bird  that 

—shuns  the  noise  of  folly, 
Most  musical,  most  melancholy. 

And  it-is  the  even-song  that  the  poet  lingers  to  hear. 
Whether  it  be  in  lyric,  sonnet,  or  strain  of  higher 
mood, — the  nightingale  en 

—bloomy  spray 
Warbles  at  eve,  when  all  the  woods  are  still. 

The  tune  is  ever  composed  of — 

The  liquid  notes  that  close  the  eye  of  day. 

In  Eden,  where  the  earliest  lovers, 

— lull'd  by  nightingales,  embracing  slept, 

the  same  sacred  calm  is  preserved.  By  a  single  epi 
thet  the  whole  character  of  the  music  is  fixed  and 
painted, 

— sweet  the  coming  on 
Of  grateful  evening  mild ;  then  silent  night, 
With  this  /ier  solemn  bird. 


40  JOURNAL    OP 


Price  remarks  that  Milton,  whose  eyes  seem  to  have 
been  affected  by  every  change  of  light,  always  speaks 
of  twilight  with  peculiar  pleasure ;  he  has  even  placed 
it  in  heaven — 

From  that  high  mount  of  God,  whence  light  and  shade 
Spring  forth,  the  face  of  brightness  heaven  had  changed 
To  grateful  twilight. 

He  was  indeed  thirty-six  years  old  before  his  sight 
grew  weak  and  dim ;  but  the  irritability  of  the  organ 
was  probably  felt  long  before. 

I  may  mention  one  happy  circumstance  in  the 
history  of  the  nightingale's  lay,  which  Coleridge  ob 
served.  There  is  a  pause  in  the  dark  wood  ;  the 
stars  are  dim ;  suddenly  the  moon  sails  through  the 
cloud ;  the  grass  and  leaves  brighten — 

—and  these  wakeful  birds 
Have  all  burst  forth  in  choral  minstrelsy, 
As  if  some  sudden  gale  had  swept  at  once 
A  hundred  airy  harps. 

In  Aleppo,  nightingales  are  the  popular  concert- 
singers,  engaged  by  the  evening ;  their  cages  are  sus 
pended  from  trees,  and  the  company  walk  under  them 
and  enjoy  the  choir.  But  here,  in  this  cool  green 
wood,  they  find  pleasanter  homes.  A  deep  copse  is 
the  cage,  with  sunny  leaves  instead  of  wires,  and 


SUMMER.    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  41 

moonbeams  sliding  softly  in  for  lanterns  when  it 
grows  dark.  Ah  !  there  he  is  again — how  simple 
and  unpretending  in  look  and  colour !  Thomson's 
compliment  to  Pope  paints  the  bird  to  a  feather : 

— his  eye  was  keen, 

With  sweetness  mixed.     In  russet  brown  bedight» 
As  is  his  sister  of  the  copses  green. 

Can  this  be  the  nightingale  which  I  heard  singing 
on  the  same  hawthorn  in  last  May  and  June?  He 
left  us  in  August,  and  has  been  absent  between  eight 
and  nine  months.  What  he  must  have  seen  and 
heard  in  his  long  vacation !  While  the  snow  froze 
on  my  window,  and  his  neighbour  the  robin  sat  piping 
on  that  sparkling  bough,  where  was  he  ?  Probably 
enjoying  a  run  among  the  Greek  Isles.  I  have  read 
of  a  naturalist  who  understood  the  bird-language. 
Why  did  he  not  give  lessons  ?  I  should  like  to  ask 
this  nightingale  a  few  questions  about  his  travels ; 
such  as — Whether  he  compared  the  dark  sea.  streaked 
by  deepest  purple,  with  our  lake  ?  marble  pillars  of 
ruined  temples  on  green  hill-sides,  with  gables  and 
porches  of  old  Berkshire  farms  ?  or  dim  islands — Cos 
and  Ithaca — glimmering  through  a  cloud-curtain  of 
silver,  with  our  country  towns,  just  visible  in  the 
early  dawn  ?  Perhaps  he  preferred  a  tour  in  Egypt, 
long  a  favourite  winter-home  of  his  kindred.  What 


42  JOURNAL   OP 


food  for  those  "  bright,  bright  eyes,"  in  the  land  of 
sphinxes  and  mummies  !  What  a  stare  at  the  Pyra 
mids,  and  longing,  lingering  look  at  Rosetta  !  Our 
Loddon — the  tranquil  and  clear-flowing — is  a  pretty 
river ;  but  think  of  the  Nile,  sprinkled  with  spread 
ing  sails,  and  bordered  by  gardens.  Pleasant  falls 
the  shade  from  vast  boughs  of  sycamore  and  fig-trees ! 
I  can  see  him  plunging  into  the  twilight  groves  of 
date,  citron,  lime,  and  banana,  and  covering  himself 
over  in  gloom  and  fragrance.  There,  truly,  he  might 
sit  "  darkling."  What  bowers  of  roses  !  But  no— 
our  wood  challenges  the  world  for  roses ;  and  here 
Hafiz  might  have  contented  his  own  Bulbul 

Surely  that  "  bright,  bright  eye  "  drank  in  with 
wonder  the  living  figures  of  the  landscape — and, 
strangest  of  them  all,  the  Arab  in  his  long  blue  dress 
at  the  door  of  the  Mosque  of  Abu-mandur.  How 
different  from  our  parish-clerk  shutting  the  church 
windows  in  the  evening !  One  is  curious  to  know 
what  a  nightingale,  on  his  first  tour,  would  think  of 
his  own  feathered  brethren  and  the  quadrupedal  race : 
— Of  that  rare  fellow  the  pelican,  with  his  six -men- 
power  appetite — and  the  buffalo,  his  black  nose  snort 
ing  the  Nile  into  foam,  as  he  crosses  from  side  to 
side. 

But  the  sweet  musician  who  sits  on  his  branch 
rejoicing,  quite  heedless  of  me  or  my  speculations, 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   TOE    COUNTRY.  43 

may  have  taken  a  different  road.  If  he  visited  the 
Archipelago  and  Egypt  in  former  years,  did  he  turn 
his  wing  to  Syria?  Again  I  sigh  for  the  bird-lan 
guage.  Touching  stories  that  tongue  might  tell  of 
the  field  which  the  Lord  hath  blessed  with  the  dew  of 
heaven,  the  fatness  of  the  earth,  and  plenty  of  corn 
and  wine ;  of  the  woody  tops  of  Carmel ;  the  sunny 
vineyard  and  grassy  upland ;  the  damask  rose ;  the 
stately  palm  of  the  Jordan ;  the  silver  sands  of  Gen- 
nesaret ;  and  the  sweet  flowers — 

That  o'er  her  western  slope  breathe  airs  of  balm ; 

the  hum  of  bees  in  clefts  of  the  rocks ;  the  solemn 
olive-garden ;  the  lonely  wayside  !  For  think  of  the 
reach  of  that  large  dark  eye  !  A  French  naturalist 
has  calculated  the  sight  of  birds  to  be  nine  times 
more  powerful  than  that  of  man.  Belzoni  himself 
would  have  been  nearly  blind  by  the  side  of  this  lit 
tle  brown  explorer. 

But.  oh !  unmindful  nightingale !  a  broader, 
brighter  eye  was  bent  over  thee — the  eye  that  never 
slumbers  nor  sleeps — as  thou  screenedst  thyself  in 
the  orange  branches.  If  even  young  ravens  that 
call  on  Our  Father  are  fed  from  His  hands,  and  the 
sparrow,  sitting  alone  on  the  housetop,  does  not  fall 
to  the  ground  unobserved  or  uncared  for;  surely 


44  JOURNAL    OP 


thou  art  ever  seen  and  watched — in  the. rose-gardens 
of  the  East,  and  the  green  coppices  of  English  woods 
— dear  pilgrim  of  music  and  beauty.  I  think  thou 
art  God's  missionary,  publishing  abroad  His  wonders 
and  love  among  the  trees — most  eloquent  when  the 
world  is  stillest.  Time  and  Sin  have  not  touched 
thee  or  thy  melody.  Where  thou  art,  Paradise 
grows  up  before  the  eye  of  faith,  as  when  the  bur 
nished  boughs  flung  long  shadows  over  Eve,  dream 
ing  by  moonlight  within 

—  a  circling  row 

Of  goodliest  trees,  loaden  with  fairest  fruit,— 
Blossoms  and  fruits  at  once  of  golden  hue. 

MAY  8th. — Goldsmith  appears  to  have  been  very 
fond  of  Tibullus.  "  A  diseased  taste,"  he  says,  (Es 
say  xii..)  "will  prefer  Ovid  to  Tibullus,  and  the  rant 
of  Lee  to  the  tenderness  of  Otway."  Goldsmith's 
criticism  was  generally  false,  for  Ovid  includes  Ti 
bullus.  However,  some  of  his  verses  are  very  ele 
gant  ;  Mr.  Gary,  the  translator  of  Dante,  applauds 
the  conclusion  of  the  first  elegy,  as  one  of  the  finest 
passages  he  remembered — and  few  modern  scholars 
had  a  wider  acquaintance  with  poetic  literature. 
Lanzi  remarks,  that  he  who  feels  what  Tibullus  is 
in  poetry,  knows  what  Andrea  del  Sarto  is  in  paint 
ing.  The  parallel  is  apt ;  Sarto  was  distinguished 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  45 

by  the  finish  of  his  style.  In  his  "  Holy  Family 
Reposing,"  every  hair  has  a  distinct  truth.  The 
colouring  of  the  painter  corresponds  with  the  lan 
guage  of  the  poet.  In  the  fourth  elegy  of  his  third 
book,  he  describes  himself  tossing  through  a  troubled 
night,  until,  as  the  sun  rose  above  the  hills,  he  fell 
asleep.  Suddenly  his  chamber  brightened  with  a 
beautiful  apparition,  which  is  most  exquisitely  de 
scribed.  Each  word  has  its  own  hue,  like  the  sepa 
rate  hairs  in  Sarto's  picture.  Of  all  such  excellence 
as  that  of  Tibullus,  the  secret  is  labour.  "  I  am 
glad  your  '  Fan'  is  mounted  so  soon  ;  but  I  would 
have  you  varnish  and  glaze  it  at  your  leisure,  and 
polish  the  sticks  as  much  as  you  can."  This  was 
Pope's  advice  to  Gay,  which  he  was  too  indolent  to 
follow.  Genius,  when  it  has  the  large  sensitive  eyes 
of  taste,  is  slow  and  painful :  Guido  never  satisfied 
himself  with  an  eye,  nor  A.  Caracci  with  an  ear. 
When  Domenichino  was  reproached  for  not  finishing 
a  picture,  he  said,  "  I  am  continually  painting  it 
within  myself."  How  often  Milton  sat  under  a  ce 
dar  with  Eve,  and  Shakspere  gazed  into  the  passion 
ate  eyes  of  Juliet,  before  the  last  animating  glow  of 
beauty  was  imparted ! 

MAY  9th. — I  see  they  are  reprinting  the  speeches 
of  Mr.  Fox.     It  is  known  that   Burke  called  him 


46  JOURNAL   OP 


the  most  brilliant  and  accomplished  debater  the 
world  ever  saw.  The  praise  was  characteristic  of 
the  utterer  and  the  subject.  Burke,  however,  did 
not  exclude  the  idea  of  eloquence  from  his  definition. 
To  Fox  belonged  the  visible  rhetoric.  He  swelled 
with  the  tide  of  invective,  and  rose  upon  the  flood 
of  his  indignation.  A  dear  friend  has  given  me  a 
vivid  portrait  of  his  manner  and  appearance.  Hold 
ing  his  hat  grasped  in  both  hands,  and  waved  up  and 
down  with  an  ever-increasing  velocity,  while  his  face 
was  turned  to  the  gallery,  he  poured  out  tempestu 
ous  torrents  of  anger,  exultation,  and  scorn.  Fox 
the  declaimer  was  paralyzed  by  Fox  the  man.  It 
was  affirmed  by  a  Greek  writer,  in  a  passage  made 
famous  by  Ben  Jonson,  that  a  poet  cannot,  be  great 
without  first  being  good ;  and  Aristotle  intimates, 
that  the  personal  purity  of  the  orator  was  a  question 
moved  in  his  own  day.  Fox  showed  the  truth  of 
this  critical  axiom.  His  intellectual  capacity  was 
impaired  by  the  moral.  The  statue  is  imposing,  but 
the  pedestal  leans. 

I  will  add  that  the  late  Mr.  Green  of  Ipswich, 
an  acute  and  well-informed  observer,  referred  with 
admiration  to  Fox's  speeches  on  the  reform  of  Par 
liament  in  1797,  on  the  Russian  armament,  and  to 
his  reply  on  the  India  Bill  in  1783,  which  he  pro 
nounced  to  be  absolutely  stupendous.  But  the 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY.  47 


reader  turns  with  most  interest  to  the  graceful  side 
of  his  character ;  his  delight  in  the  simpleness  of 
rural  pleasures,  and  the  quiet  charms  of  literature. 
It  is  very  refreshing  to  accompany  the  stormy  Cleon 
of  Westminster  into  the  shades  of  St.  Anne's  Hill, 
and  see  him,  in  the  description  of  his  surviving 
friend, 

—  so  soon  of  care  beguiled, 
Playful,  sincere,  and  artless  as  a  child, 

enjoying  the  sunshine  and  flowers  with  an  almost 
bucolic  tenderness  and  freedom  from  restraint ; 
either 

—  watching  a  bird's  nest  in  the  spray, 
Through  the  green  leaves  exploring  day  by  day ; 

or,  with  a  volume  of  Dryden  in  his  hand,  wandering 
from  grove  to  grove  and  seat  to  seat — 

To  read  there  with  a  fervour  all  his  own, 
And  in  his  grand  and  melancholy  tone, 
Some  splendid  passage  not  to  him  unknown. 

MAY   10th. — Rode  over  to  Bramshill,  the  seat  of 
Sir  John  Cope,  and  looked  at  Vandyck's  portrait  of 
himself.      "  That    Flemish    painter — that    / 
T^andyck — what  a  power  he  has  !"     The  apo 


48  JOURNAL    OF 


which  Scott  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Cromwell  at 
Whitehall,  before  the  picture  of  Charles  I.,  rises  to 
every  lip  in  the  presence  of  Vandyck.  In  truth  of 
imitation,  delicacy  of  drawing,  and  dignity  of  ex 
pression,  he  stands  alone.  No  starveling  forms  of 
Albert  Purer — to  adopt  a  phrase  of  Fuseli — no 
swampy  excrescences  of  Rembrandt,  shuffle  along  in 
squalid  deformity.  Waller  suggested  the  secret 
charm  of  his  pencil  in  a  most  speaking  line — 

Strange !  that  thy  hand  should  not  inspire 
The  beauty  only,  but  the  fire ; 
Not  the  form  alone  and  grace, 
But  art  and  power  of  a  face. 

In  a  page  on  portrait-painters,  I  cannot  omit  two 
of  different  tastes,  yet  most  wonderful  genius — Hol 
bein  and  Giorgione.  No  masters  are  more  unlike  ; 
each  is  the  antithesis  of  the  other.  Hazlitt  thought 
that  the  works  of  Holbein  are  to  the  finest  efforts  of 
the  pencil  what  state  papers  are  to  history :  they 
present  the  character  in  part,  but  only  the  dry,  the 
concrete,  the  fixed.  Giorgione,  on  the  contrary, 
gives  the  inner  spirit  and  life  of  thought.  His 
faces  are  ideal,  and  yet  real.  The  same  countenance 
painted  by  Holbein  and  Giorgione,  would  resemble 
an  English  story  told  by  Hollinshed  and  illuminated 
by  Spenser.  Both  are  precious — the  fact  as  authen- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  49 

ticating  the  poetry,  and  the  poetry  as  embellishing 
the  fact.  In  a  parallel.  Rubens  would  naturally 
come  in  ;  but  Raffaelle  cannot  be  bracketed. 

Something  of  imaginative  reality  is  seen  in  Van- 
dyck  ;  in  general  beauty  and  completeness,  he  yields 
to  Titian.  "  Vandyck's  portraits,"  said  Northcote, 
"  are  like  pictures ;  Reynolds',  like  reflections  in  a 
looking-glass  ;  Titian's,  like  the  real  people."  Mr. 
Eastlake  has  a  very  interesting  remark  on  this  char 
acteristic  of  Titian,  in  a  note  to  Goethe's  theory  of 
colours.  He  observes,  with  reference  to  the  flesh- 
tint,  that  its  effects,  at  different  distances,  can  never 
be  so  well  compared,  as  when  the  painter  and  his 
subject  draw  near  and  go  by  each  other  on  an  element 
so  smooth,  in  scenery  so  tranquil,  as  Venice  afforded 
to  its  greatest  painter.  Gliding  along  the  waveless 
canals  in  the  calm  gondola,  the  rich  complexions  of 
Italian  beauty,  and  the  serious  grandeur  of  manly 
wisdom,  delighted  his  eye.  The  same  writer  reminds 
us,  that  the  season  for  these  artistic  studies  was  the 
evening,  when  the  sun  had  set  behind  the  hills  of 
Bassano,  and  a  glowing  and  scattered  light  poured  a 
balmy  softness  into  all  the  shadows.  Living  in  the 
northern  part  of  Venice,  Titian  enjoyed  in  their 
fulness  these  charming  twilights.  I  may  add,  that 
Uvedale  Price  considered  the  whole  system  of  Vene 
tian  colouring,  particularly  of  Giorgione  and  Titian, 


50  JOURNAL    OF 


to  have  been  founded  upon  the  tints  of  autumn ; 
while  Rubens  looked  for  his  brilliant  hues  in  the 
light  freshness  of  the  early  spring.  Hence  the  warm 
golden  tinge  of  the  one,  and  the  dewy  gaiety  of  the 
other.  The  flowers  of  Titian  and  Rubens  belong  to 
different  seasons  of  the  year. 

MAY  12th. — I  always  find  it  pleasanter  to  let 
authors  or  celebrated  men  tell  their  own  history,  than 
to  read  it  in  biographies.  The  discoveries  may  be 
slight,  but  how  life-like  !  We  catch  the  form  and 
face  in  a  looking-glass,  of  which  the  person  reflected 
is  unconscious.  He  has  no  opportunity  of  making 
up  his  countenance,  but  is  sketched,  like  Pope  while 
in  conversation  with  a  friend  in  the  gallery  of  Prior 
Park, '  and  transferred  to  canvas/  before  he  knows 
that  an  eye  is  on  him — hump  and  all.  My  meaning 
will  be  brought  out  by  a  few  examples.  Shenstone 
communicates  to  one  of  his  correspondents  the  rava 
ges  of  a  caterpillar,  which  had  devoured  the  green 
ness  of  Lord  Lyttleton's  large  oaks,  while  his  own 
were  protected  by  their  insignificance.  This  one  par 
agraph  unfolds  the  secret,  of  his  existence.  The 
hinge  of  his  happiness  was  the  fame  of  the  Leasowes 
— when  that  turned  easily,  he  was  at  peace.  The 
insect  eating  his  neighbour's  tree,  was  his  own  biogra 
phy  in  miniature.  Every  body  knows  Pcpys,  and 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  51 

laughs  at  him ;  lie  was  a  frivolous  gossip  at  court ;  a 
thinner  kind  of  Horace  "Walpole.  But  the  following 
circumstance  reduces  him  to  smaller  dimensions.  A 
subject  that  weighed  heavily  on  his  thoughts  during 
the  great  Plague  was  the  fate  and  fashion  of  peri 
wigs  ;  thenceforward,  people  would  buy  no  hair,  lest 
it  had  been  cut  from  the  heads  of  those  who  died  of 
the  pestilence.  The  periwig  was  the  memoir  of  Pepys' 
in  a  summary. 

Lord  Chatham  was  an  admirable  reader  of  poetry, 
and  sometimes  delighted  his  friends  with  scenes  from 
Shakspere's  historical  plays  ;  but  when  he  came  to 
any  episode  or  fragment  of  comedy,  he  always  handed 
the  book  to  a  relative.  Combine  this  incident  with 
the  public  life  and  appearance  of  the  statesman,  as 
displayed  in  the  crimson  drapery — the  tye-wig — the 
statuesque  attitude — and  the  Under  Secretaries,  who 
were  not  permitted  to  sit  down  in  his  official  pre 
sence  :  and  admit  that  the  Clown  left  out  is  an  indi 
cation  of  character. 

I  confess  that  Pope's  "  good-natured  Garth"  has 
sunk  in  my  esteem,  since  I  read  of  Gay  setting  him 
down  at  the  Opera,  and  receiving  a  squeeze  of  the 
forefinger  by  way  of  thanks.  A  straw  shows  the 
wind,  and  shaking  hands  is  a  manifestation  of  mind.  -4- 
Latin  biography  affords  a  different  specimen:  "I 
have  received,"  wrote  Pliny  to  a  friend,  "  the  same 


52  JOURNAL    OP 


bad  account  of  my  own  little  farms,  and  am  myself, 
therefore,  at  full  leisure  to  write  books  for  you,  pro 
vided  I  can  but  raise  money  enough  to  furnish  me  with 
good  paper.  For  should  I  be  reduced  to  the  coarse 
and  spongy  sort,  either  I  must  not  write  at  all,  or 
whatever  I  compose  must  necessarily  undergo  one 
cruel  blot."  Thus  agricultural  distress  sinks  into  a 
question  of  "outsides;"  and  Trajan  himself  might 
have  waited  for  his  panegyric  if  the  ink  had  been 
watered. 

Sometimes  a  bias  is  given  to  the  mind  by  a  par 
ticular  occurrence,  which  all  its  future  motions  ac 
knowledge.  We  have  an  instance  in  Franklin,  relat 
ed  by  himself.  He  was  leaving  the  library  of  Dr. 
Mather,  at  Boston,  by  a  narrow  passage,  in  which  a 
beam  projected  from  the  roof.  They  continued  talk 
ing,  until  Mather  suddenly  called  out — "  Stoop  ! 
sloop  /"  Before  his  visitor  could  obey  the  warning, 
his  head  struck  sharply  against  the  beam.  "  You  are 
young,"  said  his  friend,  "  and  have  the  world  before 
you  ;  stoop  as  you  go  through  it,  and  you  will  miss 
many  hard  thumps."  Franklin  recollected  the  cau 
tion,  especially  when  he  saw  people  mortified  by  car 
rying  their  heads  too  high.  He  did  not,  however, 
limit  the  advice  to  a  prudent  humility ;  it  was  the 
motto  of  his  life — he  went  to  his  grave  stooping. 
All  his  thoughts,  desires,  and  actions,  were  of  one 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  53 

growth  and  stature — clever,  but  stunted.  His  writ 
ings  are  cramped  into  the  same  posture  ;  so  that  one, 
not  indisposed  to  value  or  applaud  his  talents,  has  re 
marked,  that  in  his  hands  "  a  great  subject  sometimes 
seems  to  become  less  while  it  is  elucidated,  and  less 
commanding  while  it  is  enforced."  And  thus  it  came 
to  pass  that  un  accidental  moral,  drawn  from  a  beam 
in  a  roof,  influenced  for  ill  the  judgment  and  conduct 
of  a  remarkable  person. 

Perhaps  the  gleams  of  deep  inward  thought  and 
feeling  that  shine  and  melt  over  the  familiar  letter, 
poem,  or  criticism,  are  to  be  preferred  even  to  the 
talk  ot  the  writer,  as  being  more  sincere  and  unaffect 
ed.  Conversation,  however,  gives  very  clear  traits  of 
character — it  is  the  shadow  on  the  dial,  telling  the 
hour.  But  they  must  be  marked  at  the  instant ;  a 
looker-on  should  be  quick  and  cautious.  If  you  bend 
over  the  dial,  you  break  the  shadow,  and  the  clock  is 
silent ;  at  the  best,  the  indication  never  continues 
long,  because  the  light  burns  only  for  a  moment,  and 
is  gone.  Our  happy  glimpses  of  Johnson,  revelations 
of  his  dignity,  virtues,  follies,  wisdom,  and  weakness, 
are  owing  to  this.  Boswell  was  generally  at  hand  to 
catch  and  copy  the  feature,  as  the  illumination  of 
anger,  pleasure,  imagination,  or  disease,  sparkled  be 
hind  the  fleshly  veil.  He  seized  the  shape  and  colour 
of  the  moral  transparency  before  the  flame  vanished. 


54  JOURNAL    OP 


Occasionally,  a  single  anecdote  opens  a  character ; 
biography  has  its  comparative  anatomy,  and  a  saying 
or  a  sentiment  enables  the  skilful  hand  to  construct 
the  skeleton.  Lord  Marchmont  tells  us  that  Pope 
fell  asleep  if  the  conversation  was  not  epigrammatic. 
The  first  act  of  Sterne,  on  entering  a  drawing-room, 
was  to  take  from  his  pocket  a  page  of  a  new  volume 
of  Tristram  Shandy  and  read  it  to  the  company. 
The  poet  of  the  Essay  on  Man,  and  the  caricaturist 
of  Trim,  ascend  immediately  to  the  eye,  while  we 
read  these  slight  circumstances  of  their  private  his 
tory. 

Indications  of  character  are  recognized  in  pictures 
as  well  as  in  books.  Raffaelle  paints  his  own  autobi 
ography,  as  Spenser  writes  it.  I  will  refer  to  the 
different  aspects  under  which  the  history  of  the  Cru 
cifixion  has  been  represented  ;  consulting  Burnet's 
notes  on  Reynolds  by  the  way.  M.  Angelo,  whose 
power  lay  chiefly  in  expression  and  grace  of  contour, 
selected  the  view  of  the  subject  likeliest  to  favour  his 
peculiar  talent :  Raffaelle,  for  the  same  reason,  chose 
the  point  of  time  when  the  body  is  taken  down. 
Tintoret  concentrates  his  force  in  the  suffering  Mo 
ther  at  the  foot  of  the  Cross :  Rubens  dares  every 
variety  of  attitude.  In  one  design,  we  have  the  ele 
vation  of  the  Cross ;  in  another,  the  executioners  are 
breaking  the  legs  of  the  thieves.  Here  the  grouping 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  55 

may  be  more  effective ;  there,  the  colouring  more 
brilliant ;  but  in  each  and  all,  picturesque  results, 
without  regard  to  truth,  are  the  aim  proposed.  In 
Rembrandt,  light  and  shade  become  the  conspicuous 
elements  ;  and,  remembering  that  darkness  overspread 
the  land,  he  portrays  the  taking  down  from  the  Cross 
by  moonlight.  Thus,  in  the  painter  and  the  poet,  the 
inward  consciousness  of  power  is  beheld  working  by 
favourite  instruments.  One  hand  shows  its  cunning 
in  light ;  a  second,  in  shadow ;  a  third,  in  anatomy ; 
and  men,  books,  and  pictures,  give  us  in  their  own 
way  indications  of  character. 

MAY  13th. — I  was  interested  to-day  by  the  re 
mark  of  one  of  our  most  accomplished  portrait-paint 
ers.  He  says  that  he  has  observed,  in  every  cele 
brated  person  whose  features  he  copied,  from  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  downwards,  a  looking  of  the  eye 
into  remote  space.  The  idea  occurs  often  in  litera 
ture.  Milton,  perhaps,  led  the  way  by  his  description 
of  Melancholy: 

—  with  even  step  and  musing  gait, 
And  looks  commercing  with  the  skies, 
The  rapt  soul  sitting  in  her  eyes  I 

Sterne  assigns  the  same  peculiarity  to  the  face  of  his 
Monk,  in  the  Sentimental  Journey.  His  head,  "mild, 


56  JOURNAL    OP 


pale,  penetrating ;  free  from  all  common-place  ideas 
of  fat,  contented  ignorance  looking  downwards  upon 
earth  ;  it  looked  forward,  but  looked  as  if  it  looked 
at  something  beyond  the  world."  Nothing  can  be 
more  exquisite  than  the  iteration.  The  late  Mr. 
Foster  probably  had  this  portrait  in  his  remem 
brance,  when  he  described  the  Christian  in  society — 
in  the  world,  but  not  of  it :  "  He  is  like  a  person 
whose  eye,  while  he  is  conversing  with  you  about  an 
object,  or  a  succession  of  objects,  immediately  near, 
should  glance  every  moment  toicar'ds  some  great 
spectacle  appearing  in  the  distant  horizon? 

Mr.  Moore's  elegant  tale  of  the  Epicurean  sup 
plies  another  example :  Alethe  raises  a  silver  cup 
from  the  shrine — "  Bringing  it  close  to  her  lips,  she 
kissed  it  with  a  religious  fervour  ;  then  turning  her 
eyes  mournfully  upwards,  held  them  fixed  with  a 
degree  of  earnestness,  as  if  in  that  moment,  in  direct 
communion  with  heaven,  they  saw  neither  roof  nor 
any  earthly  barrier  between  them  and  the  skies." 
And  a  fifth  illustration  is  furnished  by  Mr.  Keble, 
in  his  picture  of  Balaam  foretelling  the  happiness 
of  Israel,  and  the  rising  of  the  Star  • — 

O  for  a  sculptor's  hand, 

That  thou  might'st  take  thy  stand, 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  57 

Thy  wild  hair  floating  on  the  eastern  breeze ; 

Thy  tranc'd  yet  open  gaze 

Fix'd  on  the  desert  haze, 
As  one  who  deep  in  heaven  some  airy  pageant  sees. 

The  artist  to  whom  I  allude  docs  not  add  liter 
ature  to  his  genius.  I  believe  that  he  never  heard 
of  Foster  ;  it  is  just  possible  that  he  may  be  unac 
quainted  with  Sterne.  His  remark  would  then  be 
the  fruit  of  independent  and  individual  experience ; 
and  on  that  account  lending  a  most  interesting  com 
mentary  upon  the  illustrations  of  fancy. 

MAY  14th. — The  earliest  editor  of  Bossuet's  Ser 
mons  describes  the  writer  to  have  been  a  diligent 
student  of  Tertullian,  Chrysostom,  and  Augustine. 
But  he  looks  on  him  as  appropriating  what  he  bor 
rows,  and  being  scarcely  less  original  when  he  quotes 
than  when  he  invents.  This  is  only  an  exaggerated 
anticipation  of  Hall's  panegyric  of  Burke's  imperial 
fancy,  "  laying  all  nature  under  tribute."  Such  a 
mind  translates  an  image  into  its  own  language,  as 
we  may  learn  from  two  of  our  poets :  Cowley  de 
scribes  the  equipment  of  Goliath,  and  Milton  puts  it 
into  the  hands  of  Satan  :— 


8* 


58  JOURNAL    OF 


CoWLEY. 

His  spear  the  trunk  was  of  a 

lofty  tree, 
Which    nature    meant   some 

tall  ship's  mast  should  be. 


MILTON. 

His  spear,  to  equal  which  the 

tallest  pine 
Hewn  on  Norwegian  hills,  to 

be  the  mast 
Of  some  high  admiral,  were 

but  a  wand, 
He  walked  with. 


Here  Milton  heightens  the  picture  by  circumstances 
that  impart  to  it  the  dignity  of  invention.  The 
spear  of  the  Devil  is  far  grander  than  that  of  the 
Giant.  It  is  the  difference  between  the  dialect  of 
gods  and  men  in  the  Iliad  We  read  the  same  les 
son  in  Art.  The  eye  of  taste  has  long  been  familiar 
with  the  Notte  of  Correggio,  and  the  flowing  out  of 
light  from  the  Child  into  the  Mother's  face.  The 
thought  itself,  however,  was  not  new.  In  the  Vati 
can  fresco  of  St.  Peter  delivered  from  prison,  Raffa- 
elle  makes  the  lustre  proceed  from  the  angel.  Cor 
reggio  and  Milton,  therefore,  are  imitators  alike,  but 
their  debts  do  not  diminish  their  capital.  Each  car 
ries  large  interest.  I  think  the  same  allowance  is 
due  to  Campbell  and  Rogers  in  the  following  verses ; 
although,  in  the  case  of  the  second  writer,  a  note  of 
acknowledgment  seems  to  be  demanded.  The  pas 
sage  from  Campbell  occurs  in  his  description  of 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  59 

Adam  wandering  restless  through  Paradise,  before 
the  creation  of  Eve : — 

And  say,  without  our  hopes,  without  our  fears^ 
Without  the  home  that  plighted  love  endears, 
Without  the  smile,  from  partial  beauty  won, 
Oh  !  what  were  man  ? — a  world  without  a  sun. 

The  last  line  is  the  most  striking  of  the  four,  but  it 
is  at  least  twelve  hundred  years  old.  Luther  quotes 
the  phrase  from  St.  Augustine  : — "  A  marriage  with 
out  children  is  the  world  without  the  sun." 

In  the  Pleasures  of  Memory,  which  inspired 
those  of  Hope,  the  perishing  nature  of  that  bless 
ing  is  elegantly  delineated : — 

Lighter  than  air,  Hope's  summer  visions  fly ; 
If  but  a  fleeting  cloud  obscure  the  sky, 
If  but  a  beam  of  sober  reason  play, — 
Lo !  fancy's  fairy  frost-work  melts  awav. 

Compare  these  verses  with  Warburton's  Inquiry  into 
the  Causes  of  Prodigies,  as  related  by  Historians, 
where  he  paints  with  singular  force  and  beauty  the 
fickleness  of  Sallust — at  one  time  the  advocate  of 
public  spirit,  aud,  at  another,  sharing  in  the  robber 
ies  of  Cocsar :  "  No  sooner  did  the  warm  aspect  of 
good  fortune  shine  out  again,  but  all  those  exalted 
ideas  of  virtue  and  honour  raised  like  a  beautiful 


60  JOURNAL    OF 


kind  of  frost-work  in  the  cold  season  of  adversity, 
dissolved  and  disappeared" 

The  question  of  imitation  has  been  treated  by 
Hurd  with  ingenuity  and  taste  ;  and  his  essay  will 
be  consulted  with  pleasure  and  advantage.  The  art 
of  discovering  the  elements  of  beauty,  and  modify 
ing  them  to  his  own  use,  appears  to  be  one  of  the 
chief  implements  of  the  orator  and  poet.  Burke 
told  Barry — "  There  is  no  faculty  of  the  mind  which 
can  bring  its  energy  into  effect,  unless  the  memory 
be  stored  with  ideas  for  it  to  work  on."  Genius 
made  Achilles  and  Lady  Macbeth,  but  observation 
of  character  supplied  the  rudiments  of  creation.  In 
one,  we  have  the  ideal  of  heroism — in  the  other  of 
crime.  The  supremacy  of  intellect  is  shown  in  the 
elevation  and  brightening  of  each  borrowed  feature, 
so  as  to  harmonize  with  the  countenance  into  which 
it  is  blended.  In  other  words,  imitation  must  be 
governed  by  selection.  The  pictures  of  Caravaggio 
exhibit  the  injurious  results  of  one  of  these  qualities 
in  isolation.  A  beggar  is  transformed  into  a  saint, 
but  the  mendicant  nature  remains  under  the  new 
type.  The  same  defect  is  observable  in  Guido.  The 
feminine  expression  constantly  reappears;  Venus  and 
Judith  are  equally  delicate  and  gentle.  In  looking, 
therefore,  at  the  cloud  of  poets  whom  the  commen 
tators  bring  forward  as  creditors  of  Milton,  we  may 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  61 

recollect  Opie's  definition,  and  resolve  invention  into 
the  command  of  a  large  treasury  of  ideas,  and  an 
instinctive  readiness  and  grace  in  combining  them 
through  every  variety  of  shape  and  colour. 

MAY  15th. — It  was  in  the  neighbouring  village 
of  Swallowfield  that  Lady  Clarendon  displayed  her 
taste  for  flowers.  Why  have  we  no  history  of  Eng 
lish  gardens?  It  might  make  a  reputation.  Mr. 
Johnson  has  drawn  up  a  sketch,  but  dry  and  imper 
fect.  We  want  Evelyn  and  Walpole  united,  with  a 
tinge  of  Gray.  The  monks  were  the  first  horticul 
turists.  Orchards  and  gardens  grew  round  the  se 
questered  homes  of  learning.  Chaucer  describes  a 
garden  of  the  fifteenth  century — 

This  yerde  was  large,  and  railed  al  the  aleyes, 
And  ehadowed  well  with  blossoming  bowis  grene, 
And  trenched  newe,  and  sandid  all  the  wayea. 

The  gardens  of  Nonsuch,  in  the  reign  of  Henry 
VIII.,  might  be  taken  as  the  starting-point.  About 
the  same  period,  Hampton  Court  was  laid  out  by 
Wolsey.  A  paper  in  the  "  Archaeologia"  supplies 
some  pleasing  notices  ;  and  a  scholar,  of  high  attain 
ments,  recently  communicated  several  particulars  to 
the  open  and  watchful  ear  of  Sylvanus  Urban.  He 
mentions  Hollar's  engraving  of  Boscobel  and  Lord 


62  JOUUXAL    OF 


Arundel's  seat  in  Surrey ;  the  delicious  pleasure- 
grounds  of  Sir  Matthew  Decker  on  Kichmond-green, 
where  the  pine-apple  was  first  brought  to  perfection ; 
Beddington,  the  place  of  the  Carews.  and  the  home 
of  the  earliest  orange-tree  planted  in  England  ;  and 
Ham  House,  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  shaded 
by  spreading  elms,  and  still  reminding  us  of  Eve 
lyn's  account  of  its  pastures,  orangeries,  groves, 
fountains,  and  aviaries.  In  later  days,  Ham  House 
has  been  sketched  by  the  same  pencil  that  gave  fame 
to  Our  Village.  ':  Ham  House  is  a  perfect  model  of 
the  mansion  of  the  last  century,  with  its  dark,  shad 
owy  front,  its  steps  and  terraces,  its  marble  basins, 
and  its  deep  silent  court.  Harlow  Place  must  have 
been  just  such  an  abode  of  stateliness  and  seclusion. 
Those  iron  gates  seem  to  have  been  erected  for  no 
other  purpose  than  to  divide  Lovelace  from  Clarissa 
— they  look  so  stern,  and  so  unrelenting.  If  there 
were  any  Clarissas  now-a-days,  they  would  be  found 
at  Ham  House.  And  the  keeping  is  so  perfect. 
The  very  flowers  are  old-fashioned.  No  American 
borders,  no  kahmias  or  azaleas,  or  magnolias,  or  such 
heathen  shrubs.  No  flimsy  China  roses.  Nothing 
new-fangled.  None  but  flowers  of  the  olden  time, 
arranged  in  gay,  formal  knots,  staid,  and  trim,  and 
regular,  and  without  a  leaf  awry." 

I  may  add  that  Caniden.  a  contemporary  of  Spen- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  63 

ser,  mentions  Guy-ClifFe,  in  Warwickshire,  with  unu 
sual  animation  ;  and  Sir  "William  Temple  bestows  a 
panegyric  on  Sir  Henry  Fanshawe's  flower-garden  at 
Ware  Park,  and  his  artistic  arrangement  of  colours. 
"  He  did  so  precisely  examine  the  tinctures  and  sea 
sons  of  his  flowers,  that  in  their  settings  the  inward- 
est  of  which  that  were  to  come  up  at  the  same  time 
should  be  always  a  little  darker  than  the  utmost, 
and  so  serve  them  for  a  kind  of  gentle  shadow." 
Temple  also  mentions,  as  the  "  perfectest  figure  of 
a  garden"  he  ever  saw,  "  either  at  home  or  abroad." 
the  one  made  by  the  Countess  of  Bedford,  who  was 
the  theme  of  Donne  and  his  poetic  brethren.  It 
combined  every  excellence  of  the  antique  pleasure- 
ground  ;  the  terrace  gravel-walk,  three  hundred  paces 
long,  and  broad  in  proportion  ;  "  the  border  set  with 
standard  laurels,  and  at  large  distances,  which  have 
the  beauty  of  orange-trees,  both  of  flower  and  fruit;" 
the  stone  steps,  in  three  series,  leading  to  extensive 
parterres ;  the  fountains  and  statues ;  summer- 
houses  ;  and  a  cloister  facing  the  south  and  covered 
with  vines.  These,  with  the  ivied  balustrade,  and — 

"Walls  mellowed  into  harmony  by  time, 

composed  a  garden  that  suited,  while  it  encouraged, 
the  meditative  temper  of  our  ancestors. 


64  JOURNAL    OF 


The  English  garden  of  the  sixteenth  century 
was  the  Latin  reproduced.  Lord  Bacon's  walks  and 
topiary  work  at  Gorhambury  were  reflections  of 
Pliny's  Tusculan  Villa.  The  solemn  terrace,  sloping 
lawn,  little  flower-garden,  with  fountain  in  the  cen 
tre,  and  sculptured  trees,  were  common  to  both. 
Evelyn's  garden  was  a  happy  example.  Perhaps 
the  antique  system  had  more  than  one  feature  wor 
thy  of  preservation.  It  is  pleasant  to  look  at  Pliny, 
through  one  of  his  own  amusing  letters,  sitting  in  a 
room  shaded  by  plane-trees,  and,  like  Sidney — 

Deaf  to  noise  and  blind  to  light; 

or  sauntering  beneath  an  embowered  walk  of  vines, 
so  soft  that  his  uncovered  feet  suffered  no  inconve 
nience.  Pope  describes  such  a  path  in  his  ingenious 
imitation  of  Cowley — 

There  in  bright  drops  the  crystal  fountains  play. 
By  laurels  shaded  from  the  piercing  day ; 
Where  summer's  beauty,  midst  of  winter  strays 
And  winter's  coolness  spite  of  summer's  rays. 

And  Milton  shows  our  first  parents,  in  Eden,  rising 
with  the  early  dawn  to  dress  the 

—  alleys  green, 
Their  walk  at  noon,  with  branches  over-grown. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE  "COUNTUY.  65 

Bacon,  in  gardening  as  in  philosophy,  had  the 
prophetic  eye.  He  foresaw  the  charm  of  ornamental 
scenery,  which  was  to  delight  the  refined  taste  of 
another  generation.  Mason  praises  him  for  banish 
ing  the  crisped  knot  and  artificial  foliage,  while  he 
restored  the  ample  lawn, 

—  to  feast  their  sight 
With  verdure  cure,  unbroken,  unabridged. 

Bacon  and  Milton  were  the  prophet  and  the 
herald,  Pope  and  Addison  the  reformer  and  the 
legislator,  of  horticulture — Pope  in  the  Spectator, 
Addison  in  the  Guardian.  Neither  was  a  mere  the 
orist.  Addisou  made  a  few  experiments  in  land 
scape-decoration  at  his  rural  seat,  near  Rugby  ;  and 
Pope  created  a  little  Elysium  at  Twickenham. 
However  modern  rhymers  about  green  fields  may 
deride  him,  he  loved  nature  and  understood  her 
charms.  In  a  letter  to  Richardson,  written  in  the 
freshness  of  a  summer  morning,  he  invites  him  to 
pass  the  day  among  his  shades,  "  and  as  much  of 
the  night  as  a  fine  moon  allows."  From  the  heat  of 
noon  he  retreated  into  his  grotto — fit  haunt  for  poet 
ry  and  wood-nymphs  !  Sails  gliding  up  and  down 
the  river  cast  a  faint,  vanishing  gleam  through  a 
sloping  arcade  of  trees ;  and  when  the  doors  of  the 
grotto  were  closed,  the  changeful  scenery  of  hills. 


66  -JOURNAL    OF 


woods,  and  boats  vtttf  -reflected  on  the  wall.  As  the 
sun  sank  behind  the  branches,  his  terrace  tempted 
him  abroad :  it  commanded  the  finest  reach  of  the 
river.  At  Richmond,  in  the  words  of  Thomson, 

—  the  silver  Thames  first  rural  grows, 
Fair  winding  up  to  where  the  Muses  haunt, 
In  Twit'nam's  bowers. 

The  leafy  walks  of  Ham  were  opposite,  and  Peter 
sham-wood  lent  a  dark  frame  to  the  bright  hill  of 
Richmond,  of  which  the  Saxon  name,  Shene,  or  bril 
liancy,  is  so  happily  descriptive.  Not  a  foot  of 
ground  was  overlooked  or  unembellished.  Within 
the  small  enclosure  of  five  acres,  Pope  had  a  charming 
flower-garden — his  own  work — an  orangery,  bowling- 
green,  and  vineyard.  There  he  feasted  his  friends, 
Swift  saying  grace,  which  Dr.  Wharton  declares  that 
he  always  did  with  remarkable  devotion : — 

'Tis  true  no  turbots  dignify  my  boards, 

But  gudgeon,  flounders,  which  my  Thames  affords; 

To  Hounslow  Heath  I  point,  and  Banstead  Down, 

Thence  comes  your  mutton,  and  these  chicks  my  own. 

From  yon  old  walnut-tree  a  shower  shall  fall, 

And  grapes,  long  ling'ring  on  my  only  wall, 

And  figs  from  standard  and  espalier  join. 

Nor  should  that  other  garden  be  forgotten,  where, 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY.  67 

—  through  the  gloom  of  Shenstone's  fairy  grove, 
Maria's  urn  still  breathes  the  voice  of  love. 

It  was  the  creation  and  home  of  a  most  accomplished 
person,  who  delighted  in  every  refinement  of  rural 
taste,  and  brought  elegance  into  a  rustic  farm,  to — 

Grace  its  lone  vales  with  many  a  budding  rose, 

New  founts  of  bliss  disclose, 
Call  for  refreshing  shades,  and  decorate  repose. 

Whately  gave  the  best  account  of  the  Lcasowes. 
The  prospect  from  the  grounds  was  rich  and  varied. 
Immediately  under  the  eye  lay  the  town  of  Hales 
Owen.  The  Wrekin,  thirty  miles  distant,  rose  clearly 
above  the  horizon  ;  a  grove  overhung  a  small*  valley, 
through  which  a  rivulet  flowed,  with  clusters  of  open 
coppice-wood  scattered  along  its  banks,  and  the  sha 
dow  of  every  leaf  marked  on  the  water.  Shenstone 
had  no  model  to  work  after,  and  his  zig-zag  walk,  gilt 
urn,  and  other  eccentricities,  may  well  be  forgiven. 
But  he  felt  the  melancholy  complaint  of  a  heart  even 
sadder  than  his  own  : 

How  ill  the  scenes  that  offer  rest* 
And  hearts,  that  cannot  rest^  agree. 

"  I  feed  my  wild  ducks,  I  water  my  carnations !  happy 


68  JOURNAL    OP 


enough  if  I  could  extinguish  my  ambition  quite,  or 
indulge  my  desire  of  being  something  more  beneficial 
in  my  sphere." 

Shenstone's  hardest  trial  was  the  nearness  of  Hag- 
ley — it  was  the  sonneteer  living  next  door  to  the  epic 
poet.  What  was  Virgil's  Grove  compared  with  the 
Tinian  Lawn,  encircled  by  stately  trees,  so  full  of  leaf 
that  no  branch  or  stem  was  visible — nothing  but  large 
undulating  masses  of  foliage.  How  insignificant  be 
came  all  rustic  ornament  before  the  solitary  urn,  cho 
sen  by  Pope  himself  for  the  spot,  afterwards  inscribed 
to  his  memory,  and  "  shown  by  a  gleam  of  moonlight 
through  the  trees."  Whately  touches  the  autumnal 
beauty  of  this  scene  with  great  sweetness :  "  It  is 
delightful  to  saunter  here;  and  see  the  grass  and  gos 
samer  which  entwine  it  glistening  with  dew  ;  to  lis 
ten  and  hear  nothing  stir,  except,  perhaps,  a  withered 
leaf  dropping  gently  through  a  tree."  The  exquisite 
lines  of  Thomson  are  recalled  by  the  imitation : 

—  for  now  the  leaf 

Incessant  rustles  from  the  mournful  grove, 
Oft  startling  such  as  studious  walk  below. 

By  degrees,  the  influence  of  taste  began  to  spread. 
Gardening,  like  criticism,  was  taught  by  the  poets. 
Kent  attributes  his  skill  in  laying  out  ground  to  the 


SUMMER   TIME   IN   THE   COUNTRY.  69 

study  of  Spenser.  But  pictures  helped  him.  In 
Pope's  graceful  letter  to  Lord  Burlington,  he  speaks 
of  ^ 

—  Kent,  who  felt 
The  pencil's  power. 

Stowe  and  Claremont  were  celebrated  by  Garth, 
Thomson,  and  Walpole :  Esher,  too,  received  the 
praise  of  the  learned  poet,  to  whom  Kent  was  deeply 
indebted  for  fame  and  assistance : — 

Pleased  let  me  stray  in  Esher's  peaceful  grove, 
Where  Kent  and  nature  vie  tor  Pelham's  love. 

Brown  was  another  architect  of  gardens,  who  has 
found  a  niche  in  poetry.  Cooper  regarded  his  deso 
lating  style  with  indignation  and  contempt : — 

He  speaks !  the  lake  in  front  becomes  a  lawn, 
Woods  vanish,  hills  subside,  and  valleys  rise. 

But  he  had  a  good  eye  for  particular  effects,  and 
his  treatment  of  water  at  Blenheim  was  admirable. 
"  I  used  to  think  it,"  was  the  lively  saying  of  Wal 
pole,  "one  of  the  ugliest  places  in  England;  a  giant's 
castle,  who  had  laid  waste  all  the  country  round  him." 
In  the  garden-scene.  Brown  showed  his  power;  he  was 


JOURNAL    OP 


the  reformer  of  gravel-walks.  A  friend  reminds  me 
of  two  other  improvers  of  gardens — Mr.  Hamilton, 
who  shaped  the  beautiful  grounds  at  Payne's  Hill ; 
and  the  great  Lord  Chatham,  who  in  the  eagerness  of 
his  temper  designed  lawns  by  torch-light,  and  was  so 
careless  of  expense,  that  he  spread  the  streams  in  the 
little  valleys  of  Kent  and  Middlesex  into  lakes,  and 
covered  the  hills  of  Somersetshire  with  cedars  that 
he  sent  from  the  nurseries  of  London.  One  charm 
of  an  English  garden  is  quite  peculiar  to  it — freshness 
and  beauty  of  turf.  The  grass-plot  is  as  much  our 
own  as  the  green  hedge.  Throughout  Italy — with 
the  single  exception  of  Caserta — the  bright  English 
colour  is  unknown.  Perhaps  the  quiet  courts  of  our 
colleges  present  the  finest  specimens  of  grass;  and 
the  meadows  behind  Trinity  and  Clare  are  abundant 
ly  gay  and  fruitful.  There  wantons  the  "  pad"  of  the 
modern  abbot — 

His  sleek  sides  bathing  in  the  dewy  green. 

Happy  is  he  in  his  labour  and  his  rest.  No  commis 
sion  disturbs  his  stall.  He  cares  not  for  corn-laws, 
watched  over  by  the  benevolent  eye  of  the  Bursar  ; 
and  in  the  warm  twilight  of  a  June  evening,  it  is  very 
pleasant  to  hear  him  leisurely  pattering  home  under 
the  dim  avenue  of  limes. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  71 

The  picturesque  tourist  in  England  may  find  nu 
merous  pleasure-grounds  to  reward  his  industry.  It 
will  be  sufficient  to  specify  the  Chinese  garden  at 
Cassiobury,  famous  in  Evelyn's  time,  with  conservato 
ry  and  pagoda  full  of  porcelain,  mandarins,  paintings, 
and  gold  fish,  all  set  off  by  large  tea-plants ;  the  an 
tique  flower-garden  at  Hatfield,  Lord  Salisbury's,  with 
its  walks  over-arched  by  clipped  lime-trees  ;  the  rock- 
garden  of  Lady  Broughton,  who  spent  eight  years  in 
its  composition ;  and  of  the  late  Mr.  Wells,  at  Red- 
Leaf,  where  Nature  herself  is  the  most  liberal  and 
accomplished  contributor.  The  chief  beauty  of  White 
Knights,  now  broken  up,  arose  from  the  display  of 
exotics,  and  the  variegated  flush  of  colour. 

One  word  on  London  gardens  may  not  be  unin 
teresting.  No  passage  in  the  Task  is  more  familiar 
to  poetic  ears,  than  the  description  of  the  citizen's 
delight  in  a  glimpse  of  flowers  on  his  wall : 

The  villas  with  which  London  stands  begirt^ 

Like  a  swavth  Indian  with  his  belt  of  beads, 

Prove  it 

A  garden  in  which  nothing  thrives,  has  charms 

To  soothe  the  rich  possessor,  much  consoled 

That  here  and  there  some  sprigs  of  mournful  mint, 

Or  nightshade,  or  valerian,  grace  the  wall 

He  cultivates. 

But  a  great  change  has  come  over  the  London  gar- 


72  JOURNAL    OP 


dens  since  Cowper's  day.  The  late  Mr.  Loudon  drew 
attention  to  the  costly  plants  often  found  in  them. 
He  gave  this  explanation : — The  gardens  of  suburban 
streets  are  planted  by  speculative  builders,  and  chiefly 
from  nursery  sales,  which  have  been  very  frequent 
during  the  last  twenty  or  thirty  years.  It  is  the  cus 
tom  at  these  auctions  to  mix  rare  with  common  plants, 
that  the  former  may  sell  the  latter.  In  this  way,  the 
choicest  specimens  have  found  their  way  into  the 
grass-plots  of  cottage-villas,  or  the  humbler  row. 

I  have  not  spoken  of  the  moral  influence  of  a  gar 
den  ;  but  it  is  lively  and  lasting.  Is  there  not  a  holy 
truth  in  the  angel's  admonition  to  Esdras,  (II.  ix. 
24-5,)  "  Go  into  a  field  of  flowers  where  no  house  is 
builded,  and  eat  only  the  flowers  of  the  field ;  taste 
no  flesh,  drink  no  wine,  but  eat  flowers  only.  And 
pray  unto  the  Highest  continually — then  will  I  come 
and  talk  with  thee."  "  Happy  they  who  can  create  a 
rose,  or  erect  a  honeysuckle."  The  remark  is  Gray's, 
and  history  furnishes  touching  testimony  to  its  truth. 
When  Hough  visited  Sancroft  in  Suffolk,  he  found 
him  working  in  his  garden ;  "  Almost  all  you  see," 
said  the  good  Archbishop,  "  is  the  work  of  my  own 
hands,  though  I  am  bordering  on  eighty  years  of  age. 
My  old  woman  does  the  weeding,  and  John  mows  the 
turf  and  digs  for  me  ;  but  all  the  nicer  work — the 
sowing,  grafting,  budding,  transplanting,  and  the  like 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY.  73 

— I  trust  to  no  other  hand  but  my  own — so  long,  at 
least,  as  my  health  will  allow  me  to  enjoy  so  pleasing 
an  occupation  ;  and  in  good  sooth,  the  fruits  here 
taste  more  sweet,  and  the  flowers  have  a  richer  per 
fume,  than  they  had  at  Lambeth."  If  Bancroft  could 
have  foreseen  the  Task,  he  would  have  heard  his  voice 
reflected  in  the  writer's  account  of  his  own  rustic 
labours : 

—  no  works,  indeed, 

That  ask  robust  tough  sinews,  bred  to  toil, 
Servile  employ ;  but  such  as  may  amuse, 
Not  tire,  demanding  rather  skill  than  force. 

Though  a  mightier  hand  than  Cowper's  had  long  be 
fore,  in  a  magnificent  history-piece,  exhibited  the  ear 
liest  gardeners  of  the  world  reposing  after  their  toil — 

v 

Under  a  tuft  of  shade  that  on  the  green 

Stood  whispering  soft,  by  a  fresh  fountain  side 
They  sat  them  down ;  and  after  no  more  toil 
Of  their  sweet  gard'ning  labour  than  sufficed 
To  recommend  cool  zephyr,  and  made  ease 
More  easy. 

We  have,  in  our  gallery  of  literature,  two  very 
celebrated  personages,  who  were  always  longing  for 
country  seclusion,  and  at  length  obtained  what  they 
sought — Cowley  and  Bolingbroke.  Perhaps  this  wish 

4 


74  JOURNAL    OF 


was  the  only  point  of  agreement  between  them.  "  I 
never  had  any  other  desire,"  wrote  the  poet  to  Eve 
lyn,  "  so  like  to  covetousness  as  that  one  which  I  have 
always  had — that  I  might  be  the  master  at  last  of  a 
small  house  and  a  large  garden,  and  there  dedicate 
the  remainder  of  my  life  only  to  the  culture  of  flow 
ers  and  the  study  of  nature."  The  lover  of  s\vect 
fancies  has  reason  to  regret  that  Cowley  did  not  find 
the  Eden  he  anticipated,  or  live  to  make  it  what  he 
hoped  ;  he  had  the  "  inward  eye  which  is  the  bliss  of 
solitude,"  and  discovered  in  the  meanest  flower  or 
weed  by  the  hedge-row — 

Thoughts  that  do  often  lie  too  deep  for  tears. 

These  verses,  especially  those  in  Italics,  seem  to 
enfold  the  whole  system  of  Mr.  Wordsworth — to  be 
at  once  its  text  and  compendium.  Cowley  is  writing 
to  Evelyn  about  a  garden : 

Where  does  the  Wisdom  and  the  Power  Divine 
In  a  more  bright  and  sweet  reflection  shine  ? 
Where  do  we  finer  strokes  and  colours  see, 
Of  the  Creator's  real  Poetiy, 
Than  when  we  with  attention  look 
Upon  the  third  day's  volume  of  the  Book  t 
'   If  we  could  open  and  intend  our  eye, 
We  all,  like  Moses,  should  espy 
Erin  in  a  bush  the  radiant  Deity. 


SUMMER.    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY.  75 

But  we  despise  these,  His  inferior  ways, 
(Though  no  less  full  of  miracle  and  praise,) 
Upon  the  flowers  of  heaven  we  gaze, 
The  stars  of  earth  ho  wonder  in  us  raise. 

When  Boswell  mentioned  to  Johnson  the  saying 
of  Shenstone,  that  Pope  had  the  art  beyond  any  other 
writer  of  condensing  sense,  Johnson  replied :  "  It  is 
not  true,  sir  ;  there  is  more  sense  in  a  line  of  Cowley 
than  in  a  page  of  Pope."  He  might  have  enlarged 
this  criticism  in  his  Life  of  Cowley :  other  poets  may 
be  read ;  he  is  to  be  studied.  The  multitude  of  his 
allusions  cause  a  continual  strain  on  the  memory ; 
and  the  richness  of  his  fancy  blinds  the  reader  to  the 
strength  of  his  intellect ;  as  in  tropical  woods  the 
thickest  trunk  of  the  tree  is  hidden  by  the  tall  grass 
and  plants,  that  climb  up  and  encircle  it. 

In  Cowley,  the  feeling  for  gardens,  trees,  and 
fountains,  was  natural  and  sincere.  He  was  one 

—  whose  heart  the  holy  forms 
Of  young  imagination  have  kept  pure. 

But  it  is  worth  remarking,  that  the  complaint  of  his 
touching  line — 

Business,  that  contradiction  of  my  fate, 


76  JOURNAL    OF 


was  breathed  long  before  by  Bacon. — (De  Aug.  Sci., 
I.  viii.  c.  3.) 

By  the  side  of  Cowley,  Bolingbroke  looks  like 
Fiction  holding  the  hand  of  Truth  ;  upon  his  lips, 
affection  for  the  country  was  a  sigh  after  flowers  upon 
the  stage.  However,  into  woods  and  fields  he  went — 
everything  was  to  be  rural ;  the  waDs  of  his  house 
were  painted  with  implements  of  husbandry,  done  in 
black  crayon.  "I  am  in  my  farm,"  he  wrote  to  Swift; 
"  and  here  I  shoot  strong  and  tenacious  roots.  I  have 
caught  hold  of  the  earth,  to  use  a  gardener's  phrase, 
and  neither  my  friends  nor  my  enemies  will  find  it  an 
easy  matter  to  transplant  me  again."  Is  it  ungener 
ous  to  couple  with  Bolingbroke's  affected  love  of 
gardens,  the  delight  of  Walpole  in  planting  beeches 
and  chestnuts  at  Houghton?  "My  flatterers,"  he 
wrote  to  General  Churchill,  "  are  mutes  ;  they  will 
not  lie.  I,  in  return,  with  sincerity  admire  them  ; 
and  have  as  many  beauties  about  me  as  fill  up  all  my 
hours  without  dangling  ;  and  no  disgrace  attends  me 
from  the  age  of  sixty-seven."  There  is,  truly,  a  forti 
tude  to  be  learned  of  that  schoolmistress  whom  God 
employs  to  guide  His  children  towards  Himself — a 
high  and  noble  sense  of  the  soul's  dignity,  which 
makes  it  her  privilege — 

Through  all  the  years  of  this  our  life,  to  lead 
From  joy  to  joy ;  for  she  can  so  inform 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  77 

The  mind  that  is  within  us,  so  impress 
With  quietness  aud  beauty,  and  so  feed 
"\Vitli  lofty  thought?,  that  neither  evil  tongues, 
Rash  judgments,  nor  the  sneers  of  selfish  men, 
Nor  greetings  where  no  kindness  is,  nor  all 
The  dreary  intercourse  of  daily  life, 
Shall  e'er  prevail  against  us,  or  disturb 
Our  cheerful  faith,  that  all  which  we  behold 
Is  full  of  blessings. 

But  this  wisdom  is  not  taught  in  the  academy  of 
the  Infidel,  or  the  Plotter. 

My  notes  on  gardens  have  swelled  into  an  essay ; 
but  I  must  say  one  word  on  their  relationship  to  the 
pencil.  Among  ourselves,  landscape  gardening  is 
confined  within  narrow  boundaries.  Few  parts  of 
England  furnish  materials  for  representing  the  pic 
tures  of  S.  Rosa,  Claude,  and  the  Poussins.  Occa 
sional  situations  may  give  the  scenes  of  Ruysdael, 
Berghem,  and  Pinaker  ;  while  Hobbema,  Waterloo, 
and  A.  Vandervelt  can  be  copied  wherever  trees, 
lanes,  and  water  are  found.  Walpole  included 
Claude  in  the  list,  but  we  have  neither  his  architec 
ture  nor  sunshine. 

MAY  16th. — I  called  in  the  other  day  a  little 
debt  that  has  been  owing,  for  a  long  time,  from  Mr. 
Rogers  to  Bishop  Warburton.  This  morning  I  came 
upon  another,  which  ought  to  stand  in  the  name  of 


78  JOURNAL    OP 


the  great  poetical  capitalist  of  the  seventeenth  cen 
tury.  Mr.  Rogers,  in  his  delightful  fragment,  Human 
Life,  portrays  the  joyous  indolence  that  sometimes 
creeps  over  us  in  youth,  when  there  is  balm  in  the 
blood  as  well  as  in  the  air : — 

Yet,  all  forgot,  how  oft  the  eyelids  close, 

And  from  the  slack  hand  drops  the  gathered  rose  ! 

The  last  is  a  most  exquisite  line,  altogether  gold 
en,  but  melted  from  Milton's  ore  ;  as  may  be  seen  by 
turning  to  the  ninth  book  of  Paradise  Lost.  Adam, 
waiting  the  return  of  Eve, 

—  had  wove 

Of  choicest  flowers  a  garland  to  adorn 
Her  tresses,  and  her  rural  labours  crown ; 

at  length,  weary  of  suspense,  wondering  at  her  long 
stay,  and  with  a  foreboding  at  his  heart  of  coming 
evil,  he  goes  forth  in  search  of  her,  and  meets  her  re 
turning  from  the  Tree  of  Knowledge,  with  a  bough 
of  fruit  in  her  hand.  Eve  anticipates  his  questions 
by  relating  the  history  of  her  temptation.  Adam 
shrinks  back  in  astonishment  and  horror — 

From  his  slack  hand  the  garland  wreath'd  for  Eve 
Down,  dropt,  and  all  the  faded  roses  shed. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  79 

Here,  as  in  a  verse  of  Mr.  Rogers  previously  quoted, 
the  elegance  of  the  application  lends  a  secondary 
kind  of  originality  to  the  borrower.  La  Bruyere 
acutely  remarked  of  Boileau,  whose  imitations  are 
numerous,  that  he  seemed  to  create  the  thoughts  of 
other  people — so  ingenious  are  the  turns  which  he 
gives  to  a  simile  or  expression.  He  steals  the  metal, 
but  the  superscription  is  his  own.  We  may  never 
look  upon  a  writer,  worthy  of  fame,  and  owing  nothing 
to  his  ancestors.  To  speak  in  the  unimprovable  lan 
guage  of  Dryden — "  We  shall  track  him  everywhere 
in  the  snow  of  the  ancients." 

MAY  17th. — In  the  history  of  art,  we  meet  with  a 
small  but  ingenious  band  of  men  who  are  known  as 
flower-painters.  The  garden  is  their  studio,  and  tu 
lips,  or  roses,  are  their  favourite  sitters.  Sometimes 
the  floral  features  and  charms  are  transferred  with 
the  dewy  gracefulness  of  life.  The  pencil  catches  the 
orchard-bloom  from  the  sunniest  wall.  Among  Eng 
lish  poets,  one  has  produced  pen-and-ink  sketches  of 
rare  brilliancy ;  I  refer  to  Darwin.  He  was  not  only, 
in  the  compliment  of  Cowper,  the  harmonist  of  Flora's 
court,  but  her  artist  in  ordinary.  His  descriptions 
sparkle  with  dust  of  gold.  The  finger  seems  to  rub 
it  off  the  page,  like  crimson-meal  from  the  wings  of 
the  butterfly. 


80  JOURNAL    OP 


But  flower-painting  in  words  has  never  become  a 
distinct  branch  of  poetic  art,  every  master  of  language 
having  in  some  measure  cultivated  it.  Shakspeare 
scattered  his  golden  violets  over  the  hearse  of  tragedy  ; 
Spenser  rejoiced  in  lilies  ;  Milton  in  all  trees,  leaves, 
and  perfumes  ;  Thomson  found  words  of  many  colours 
for  the  weeds  and  flowers  of  hedge-rows;  Cowper's 
fancy  brightened  as  he  lingered  under  the  woodbine, 
or  glittering  branches  of  laburnum. 

"  I  have  some  favourite  flowers  in  spring,"  Burns 
wrote  to  a  friend,  "  among  which  are  the  mountain- 
daisy,  harebell,  and  fox-glove  ;  the  wild  brier-rose,  and 
budding  and  hoary  hawthorn,  I  view  and  hang  over 
with  peculiar  delight."  And  so  he  sang  in  his  sweet 
pastoral  verses  — 

Their  groves  o'  sweet  myrtle  let  foreign  lands  reckon, 
Where  bright  beaming  summers  exalt  the  perfume; 

Far  dearer  to  me  yon  lone  glen  o'  green  bracken, 
Wi'  the  burn  stealing  under  the  lang  yellow  broom. 

Far  dearer  to  me  yon  humble  broom  bowers, 

Where  the  blue-bell  and  go  wan  lurk  lowly  unseen. 


Campbell  could  read  a  landscape  in  the  mild  looks 
of  the  primrose  ;  and  Wordsworth's  afection  for  the 
daisy  is  quite  characteristic  of  his  poetry.  Perhaps 
the  following  are  two  of  the  most  charming  flower- 
pieces  in  our  language  :  — 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


81 


THOMSON. 

Fair  handed  spring  unbosoms 
ev'ry  grace, 

Throws  out  the  snowdrop  and 
the  crocus  first. 

The  daisy,  primrose,  violet 
darkly  blue, 

And  polyanthus  of  unnum 
bered  dyes ; 

The  yellow  wallflower  stain'd 
with  iron  brown, 

And  lavish  stock  that  scents 
the  garden  round ; 

From  the  soft  wing  of  vernal 
breezes  shed 

Anemones ;  auriculas  enrich'd 

With  shining  meal  o'er  all 
their  velvet  leaves, 

And  full  ranunculus  of  glow 
ing  red ; 

Then  comes  the  tulip  race, 
where  Beauty  plays 

Her  idle  freaks ;  from  family 
diffused 

To  family,  as  flies  the  feather 
ing  dust, 

The  varied  colours  run. 

— Hyacinths  of  purest  vir 
gin  white, 

4* 


COWPER. 

— Laburnum  rich 

In  streaming  gold;  syringa 
ivory  pure; 

The  scented  and  the  scentless 
rose :  this  red, 

And  of  an  humbler  growth; 
the  other,  tall, 

And  throwing  up  into  the 
darkest  gloom 

Of  neighboring  cypress,  or 
more  sable  yew, 

Her  silver  globes,  light  as  the 
foamy  surf, 

That  the  wind  severs  from  the 
broken  wave. 

The  lilac,  various  in  array, 
now  white, 

Now  sanguine,  and  her  beau 
teous  head  now  set 

With  purple  spikes  pyramid 
al,  as  if 

Studious  of  ornament;  yet 
unresolved 

Which  hue  she  most  approv 
ed,  she  chose  them  alL 

Copious  of  flowers,  the  wood 
bine  pale  and  wan — 


82 


JOURNAL    OF 


COWPEB, 

Hypericum  all  bloom,  so  thick 

a  swarm 
Of  flowers  like  flies  clothing 

her  slender  rods, 
That  scarce  a  leaf  appears. 
Althaea  with  the  purple  eye. 


THOMSON. 

Low  bent  and  blushing  in 
ward  ;  nor  jonquils, 

Of  potent  fragrance ;  nor  nar 
cissus  fair, 

As  o'er  the  fabled  fountain 
hanging  still ; 

Nor  broad  carnations,  nor  gay 
spotted  pinks ; 

Nor  shower'd  from  every  bush 
the  damask  rose. 


The  auricula  was  brought  to  our  sheltered  lawns 
from  the  snowy  moss  of  the  Swiss  Alps.  Of  the  ra 
nunculus  an  anecdote  is  told  by  the  traveller  Tourne- 
fort: — Mahomet  IV.,  with  a  passion  for  the  chase, 
combined  a  love  of  flowers,  and  particularly  of  the 
ranunculus.  His  vizir,  the  Casa  Mustapha  of  the 
siege  of  Vienna,  anxious  to  wean  his  master  from  the 
more  hazardous  amusement,  subjected  the  empire  to  a 
horticultural  inquisition.  Every  Pacha  was  ordered 
to  send  seeds  and  roots  of  the  finest  species  of  the 
Sultan's  favourite  to  Constantinople.  Accordingly,  the 
secluded  courts  of  the  seraglio  soon  began  to  shine 
with  the  richest  flowers  from  Cyprus,  Aleppo,  and 
Smyrna.  In  process  of  time,  the  ambassadors  at  the 
Turkish  court  procured  specimens  for  their  respective 
sovereigns,  and  the  ranunculus  reared  its  head  in  all 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY.  83 

the  royal  gardens  of  Europe.  Next  to  the  rose,  it 
seems  to  be  the  most  expansive  name  in  botany.  Of 
one  sort,  florists  reckon  eight  hundred  varieties.  But 
our  obligations  to  the  East  are  not  limited  to  the  ra 
nunculus;  the  tuber  rose  and  lily  reached  us  from 
India  and  Persia  towards  the  close  of  the  sixteenth, 
century.  Beckman  thinks  that  the  taste  for  flowers 
travelled  into  Europe  from  the  same  countries.  The 
tulip  first  opened  its  gorgeous  eyes  in  a  Turkish  gar 
den.  It  grows  wild  in  the  Levant 

MAY  20th. — The  Eton  edition  of  Gray,  charming 
ly  illustrated  and  edited,  overlooks,  I  think,  one  or 
two  annotations  worthy  of  insertion.  A  visitor  to 
Wales,  in  the  early  part  of  the  present  century,  ob 
jected  to  the  description,  in  the  Bard,  of  the  "foam 
ing  Conway."  And  having  imagined  an  error,  he 
suggests  this  occasion  of  it : — Gray  probably  supposed 
the  Conway  to  resemble  the  mountain  torrents  of 
Wales,  of  which  the  course  is  troubled  and  impetuous, 
although  observation  would  have  informed  him  that 
the  Conway  flows  in  a  tranquil  current  through  the 
valley.  This  is  sufficiently  well.  But  Gray  knew  the 
Conway  and  its  character.  He  chose  a  moment  of 
tempest  for  the  action  of  the  Ode,  and  treated  the 
river  with  poetic  liberty.  The  storm  lashed  the  water 


84 


into  foam,  and  the  hoary  hair  of  the  minstrel,  stand 
ing  upon  the  rock — 

Streamed  like  a  meteor  to  the  troubled  air. 

The  scene  is  full  of  agitation  and  dismay.  Titian's 
noble  landscape  of  St.  Peter  the  Martyr  is  recalled  to 
the  mind.  The  sudden  gush  of  wind,  tossing  out  the 
robe  of  the  Dominican,  corresponds  with  the  tumultu 
ous  attitude  of  the  poet. 

Bishop  Percy  has  been  more  justly  accused  of  a 
mistake  like  that  imputed  to  Gray.  In  the  romance 
of  Don  Alonzo  de  Aguilar,  contained  in  the  Reliques, 
he  translates  Rio  Verde,  "  gentle  river ;"  but  Swin 
burne  showed  that  Green  River  is  as  much  the  name 
of  the  water  where  the  skirmish  happened,  as  Black- 
wall  is  of  the  reach  of  the  Thames  where  people  go  to 
eat  whitebait. 

A  topographical  error  has  been  pointed  out  in  a 
writer  whose  minute  truthfulness  of  local  description 
is  generally  surprising.  At  the  western  extremity  of 
the  Gulf  of  Naples  are  two  islands,  Procida  and 
Ischia,  of  which  the  second  is^ocky,  appearing  to  rise 
up  in  a  cone  from  the  lowlands  of  the  former.  Yet 
Virgil,  who  was  familiar  with  the  scenery  as  Johnson 
with  the  flow  of  Fleet  Street,  reverses  or  transposes 
the  characteristic  epithet. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY.  85 

MAY  22d. — Johnson  and  Thomson  had  two  feel 
ings  in  common — a  passion  for  wall-fruit  and  lying  in 
bed.  The  philosopher  ate  seven  or  eight  large 
peaches  before  breakfast,  and  renewed  the  acquaint 
ance  at  dinner  with  equal  enthusiasm.  He  said  that 
once  in  his  life,  at  Ormbersley,  the  seat  of  Lord  San 
dys,  he  had  enough  fruit.  The  poet  sketches  himself 
in  Autumn,  (677  ;) 

Here  as  I  steal  along  the  sunny  wall, 
"Where  Autumn  basks  with  fruit  empurpled  deep, 
My  pleasing  theme  continual  prompts  my  thought ; 
Presents  the  downy  peach ;  the  shining  plum ; 
The  ruddy,  fragrant  nectarine ;  and  dark, 
Beneath  his  ample  leaf,  the  luscious  fig. 

There  was,  however,  a  refinement  in  Thomson's  appe 
tite  quite  unknown  to  his  critic.  He  delighted  to 
draw  down  the  rich  plum,  with  the  blue  on  it,  into  his 
mouth  without  the  help  of  his  hands,  which  hung  list 
lessly  in  his  pockets.  Johnson's  love  of  plums  be 
trayed  him  into  an  amusing  extravagance.  When  he 
was  in  the  Isle  of  Skye,  the  conversation  turning  on 
the  advantage  of  wearing  linen,  he  said  that  the  juice 
from  a  plum-tree  on  the  fingers  was  not  disagreeable, 
because  it  was  a  vegetable  substance. 

The  other  coincidence  was  in  panegyrics  of  earl 
rising :  "  I  tell  all  young   people,"  wrote  Johnson 


86  JOURNAL    OF 


"  and  tell  them  with  great  sincerity,  that  nobody  who 
does  not  rise  early  will  ever  do  any  good."  Mean 
while,  in  his  diary,  April,  1765,  he  confesses  a  general 
habit  of  lying  in  bed  until  two  o'clock  in  the  after 
noon.  The  poet's  theory  and  practice  were  not  closer. 
His  famous  apostrophe — 

Falsely  luxurious,  will  not  man  awake ! 

would  have  startled  nobody  more  than  his  own  ser 
vant.  Good  Mrs.  Carter — skilful  in  translating 
Epictetus,  and  making  a  pudding,  and  who  lived  to 
the  verge  of  ninety  years — always  rose  at  six,  and 
left  a  pleasant  admonition  for  sleepy  readers  :— 

The  poets  will  tell  you  a  deal  of  Aurora, 
And  how  much  she  improves  all  the  beauties  of  Flora; 
Though  you  need  believe  neither  the  poets  nor  me, 
But  convince  your  own  senses,  and  get  up  and  see. 

MAY  25th. — I  have  been  impressed  by  a  remark 
of  Professor  Wilson,  in  Mill's  History  of  India,  that 
people  who  declaim  against  the  tyranny  of  caste. 
should  recollect  its  compensations.  The  caution  need 
not  be  limited  to  the  Hindus.  ( Whatever  be  the  va 
rieties  of  human  states  and  fortunes,  some  delicate 
turn  of  the  balance  makes  them  equal.  The  scale  is 
in  the  hand  of  God.  The  thrush  sings  in  the  cot- 


SUMMER.    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  87 

tager's  garden,  and  the  skeleton  hangs  behind  the  gold 
tapestry.  Even  the  mute  creation  clears  up  dark 
passages  in  the  economy  of  the  intellectual.  For  one 
gift  bestowed,  another  is  taken  away.  The  bird  of 
paradise  has  coarse  legs.  The  eye  of  the  bat  is  too 
weak  for  the  gloom  it  inhabits  ;  therefore  the  sense 
of  touch  is  quickened  ;  it  sees  with  its  feet,  and  easi 
ly  and  safely  guides  itself  in  the  swiftest  flight.  The 
sloth  has  a  similar  provision.  Look  at  it  on  the 
ground,  and  you  wonder  at  the  grotesque  freaks  of 
nature  ;  but  follow  it  up  a  tree  ;  watch  it  suspending 
its  body  by  the  hooked  toes,  and  swinging  from  bough 
to  bough,  and  you  perceive  its  organization  to  be 
exactly  suited  to  its  wants.  Paley  notices  the  same 
principle  o£  compensation  in  the  elephant  and  crane. 
The  short  unbending  neck  of  the  first  receives  a 
remedy  in  the  flexible  trunk  ;  the  long  legs  of  the 
second  enable  it  to  wade  where  the  structure  of  its 
feet  prevents  it  from  swimming. 

The  changes  of  light  and  shade  are  tempered  to 
insect  sensibility.  In  the  deserts  of  the  Torrid  Zone, 
the  setting  sun  calls  up  myriads  of  little  creatures, 
that  would  perish  in  its  full  brightness  ;  while,  in  the 
wintry  solitudes  of  the  north,  sunset  is  the  signal  for^ 
repose.  The  lesson  of  compensation  is  taught  by 
the  humming  of  flies  along  the  hedges.  The  flutterer 
of  a  day  has  no  reason  to  complain  of  the  shortness 


88  JOURNAL    OF 


of  its  life.  It  was  a  thought  of  Malebranche,  that 
the  ephemera  may  regard  a  minute  as  we  look  upon 
a  year.  The  delusion  is  its  recompense.  Mr.  Lan- 
dor  touches  this  subject  very  beautifully  in  his  Ima 
ginary  Conversation  between  Lord  Brooke  and  Sir 
Philip  Sidney.  The  former  remarks,  under  an  oak 
at  Penshurst,  "  What  a  hum  of  satisfaction  in  God's 
creatures  !  How  is  it  the  smallest  do  seem  the  hap 
piest  ?"  And  his  friend  answers  him  :  "  Compensa 
tion  for  their  weakness  and  their  fears:  compensation 
for  the  shortness  of  their  existence.  Their  spirits 
mount  upon  the  sunbeam  above  the  eagle  ;  they  have 
more  enjoyment  in  their  one  summer  than  the  ele 
phant  in  his  century." 

And  if  we  turn  to  the  history  and  fortunes  of  men, 
a  long  series  of  balances  keeps  opening  on  the  eye. 
The  ear  alone  might  be  a  motto  for  an  essay.  In 
South  America,  a  cicada  is  heard  a  mile  ;  a  man  only 
a  few  yards.  Kirby  has  calculated  that,  if  the  voice 
increased  in  volume  proportionably  to  the  size  of  the 
body,  it  would  resound  over  the  world.  Every  inch 
must  deepen  the  thunder  ;  and  two  giants  might  con 
verse  with  ease  from  the  North  Pole  and  the  Ganges. 
The  slightest  enlargement  of  stature  would  be  watched 
with  apprehension ;  and  an  island  with  one  man  of 
seven  feet  in  it  be  altogether  uninhabitable. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY.  89 

did  not  forget  this  providential  adaptation  of  the  or 
gan  to  happiness  : — 

If  Nature  thundered  in  his  opening  ears, 
And  stunn'd  him  with  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
How  would  he  wish  that  Heaven  had  left  him  still 
The  whisp'ring  zephyr  and  the  purling  rill. 

Who  will  complain  that  he  is  more  inaudible  than  the 
grasshopper  ? 

Man  has  another  compensation  in  the  fineness  of 
his  ear.  Dugald  Stewart  remarked  of  the  warbling 
of  birds,  that  it  gives  pleasure  to  none  of  the  quadru 
peds  ;  nor  is  it  even  certain  if  the  music  of  one  spe 
cies  gratifies  another.  Who  ever  heard  a  sparrow 
pause  in  his  impertinent  chirp,  because  a  lark  sprang 
wavering  into  song  above  his  head  ?  Against  this 
argument  it  has  been  objected,  that  the  canary  often 
learns  the  nightingale's  notes ;  that  young  birds  adopt 
the  song  of  their  foster-parent ;  and  that  the  jay  has 
been  heard  to  warble  the  robin's  tune,  which  it  had 
learned  entirely  by  its  own  ear,  and  love  of  music. 
These  examples  do  not  refute  the  saying  of  the  philo 
sopher.  In  certain  birds  imitation  is  an  instinct. 
The  question  must  be  djecided  upon  the  general  prin 
ciples  of  observation.  If  an  exquisite  singer  were 
suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  the  most  ignorant  rustics, 
to  burst  into  the  full  swell  and  cadence  of  harmony, 


90  JOURNAL    OF 


there  would  be  a  hush  of  wonder  and  delight.  But 
who  supposes  the  owl  to  consider  its  hooting  less 
agreeable  than  the  chant  of  the  nightingale  ? 

We  have  sublimer  illustrations  of  the  theory. 

The  Bible  is  a  history  of  compensation.  The 
prophecies  of  the  New  Covenant  were  uttered  in  sea 
sons  of  depression — at  the  fall  of  Adam,  the  separa 
tion  of  Abraham,  the  bondage  of  Israel,  and  the  giv 
ing  of  the  law  by  Moses,  the  captivity  of  Babylon. 
Cloud '  and  rainbow  appear  together.  There  is  wis 
dom  in  the  saying  of  Feltham,  that  the  whole  creation 
is  kept  in  order  by  discord,  and  that  vicissitude  main 
tains  the  world.  Many  evils  bring  many  blessings. 
Manna  drops  in  the  wilderness — corn  grows  in  Ca 
naan.  Karely  two  afflictions,  or  two  trials,  console 
or  trouble  us  at  the  same  time.  Human  life  is  the 
Prophet's  declaration  drawn  out  into  examples : — 
"  God  stayeth  his  rough  wind  in  the  day  of  his 
east  wind." 

And  one  curious  and  beautiful  feature  of  the  Di 
vine  scheme  of  compensation  is  seen  in  its  changing 
our  sorrows  into  instruments  and  channels  of  joy  and 
comfort.  The  curtained  chamber  of  sickness  sows 
the  barren  field  with  flowers.  A  sick  man  seated  in 
his  garden,  or  tottering  down  a  green  lane  for  a  few 
minutes,  might  suppose  himself  transported  into  the 
morning  and  sunlight  of  creation : — 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUXTRY.  91 

The  common  air,  the  earth,  the  skies, 
To  him  are  opening  Paradise. 

«y 

Plato  relates  that  Socrates,  on  the  day  of  his 

death,  being  in  the  company  of  his  disciples,  began  to 
rub  his  leg,  which  had  been  galled  by  the  chain,  and 
mentioned  the  pleasurable  sensation  in  the  released 
member.  The  Greek  prison  represents  the  world ; 
the  philosopher,  the  Christian  ;  the  fetters,  the  calam 
ities  of  life.  When  one  of  these  is  loosened,  the  soul 
experiences  a  feeling  of  delight.  It  is  the  leg  of 
Socrates  unchained.  The  iron  enters  into  the  soul, 
and  afterwards  the  wound  is  healed.  St.  Paul  told 
the  Corinthians,  that  when  he  came  to  Macedonia  his 
flesh  had  no  rest ;  without,  were  fightings ;  within, 
were  fears  ;  but  God  comforted  him  by  "  the  coming 
of  Titus."  So  it  is  ever. 

The  future  of  a  man  is  his  recompense ;  some 
thing  is  promised  which  he  desired ;  or  something  is 
withdrawn  of  which  he  complained.  Hope  is  the 

< 

compendium  of  compensation.  The  Eskino,  who  num 
bers  among  his  pleasures  a  plank  of  a  tree,  cast  by 
the  ocean  currents  on  his  desolate  shores,  sees  in  the 
moon  plains  overshadowed  by  majestic  forests ;  the 
Indian  of  the  Oroonoko  expects  to  find  in  the  same 
luminary  green  and  boundless  savannas,  where  people 
are  never  stung  by  mosquitoes.  Thus  the  chain  of 
compensation  encircles  the  world. 


92  JOURNAL    OF 


MAY  28th. — Much  amused  with  Fortune's  Wander 
ing  in  China,  the  book  for  a  w6t  day  in  the  country. 
He  has  something  to  say,  and  says  it.  Gutzlaff  had 
complained  of  the  ill-behaviour  of  the  Chinese  in  their 
temples ;  the  official  persons  taking  no  interest  in  the 
religious  ceremonies,  but  staring  at  the  European 
strangers.  Fortune  doubts  the  general  truth  of  the 
story,  and  recommends  us  to  make  a  corresponding 
experiment  in  England.  Let  me  sketch  a  scene. 
While  the  village  choir  is  scraping  into  tune,  the  bas 
soon  grumbles,  and  the  flute  breathes  its  first  scream, 
let  the  church-doors  open,  and  display,  leisurely  pacing 
up  the  chancel,  and  under  the  affrighted  eyes  of  the 
clerk,  a  small-footed  lady,  with  eyes  to  match,  from 
Pekin ;  or  a  mandarin,  a  peacock-feather  mounted  in 
his  hat,  wearing  a  purple  spencer  embroidered  with 
gold,  a  rosary  of  stones  and  coral  round  his  neck,  and 
a  long  tail,  exquisitely  braided,  dangling  down  his 
shoulders.  Imagine  the  apparition  to  seat  himself  in 
the  pew  of  the  squire ;  and  then,  by  way  of  refresh 
ment,  to  draw  from  the  embroidered  purse,  always 
suspended  at  the  girdle,  a  snuff-bottle  of  porcelain  or 
coloured  glass,  and  lay  a  small  portion  of  fragrant 
dust  in  the  left  hand,  at  the  lower  joint  of  the  thumb. 
After  these  preliminaries,  suppose  him,  with  that  in 
ward  sense  of  merit,  which  may  be  recognised  even  in 
our  parochial  snuff-takers,  to  lift  the  pinch  to  his 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  93 

nose.  Where  have  been  the  eyes  of  the  congregation 
during  these  mystic  ceremonies  ?  I  shall  not  presume 
to  conjecture. 

In  truth,  appearances  are  not  always  to  be  trusted. 
A  recent  traveller  in  Canada  was  on  a  hunting-excur 
sion  with  a  party  of  Indians ;  before  retiring  to  sleep, 
all  knelt  in  prayer,  rosary  in  hand.  But  the  dogs, 
which,  to  increase  their  fierceness,  had  been  kept  fast 
ing,  came  prowling  into  the  cabin ;  and  one  happened 
to  touch  the  heel  of  the  Indian  whose  look  was  the 
devoutest  and  most  self-absorbed.  He  immediately 
turned  round  to  eject  the  intruder ;  and  showering  on 
him  a  volley  of  French  imprecations,  finally  drove  him 
out  with  circumstances  of  peculiar  indignity.  Having 
accomplished  this  feat,  he  took  a  long  pull  at  his  pipe, 
and  resumed  his  prayers. 

JUNE  1st. — One  seldom  reads  Fontenelle  in  these 
swarming  book-days  ;  but  what  a  charm  there  is  in  his 
works !  His  scientific  portraits  are  so  simple  and 
life-like  ;  and  then  how  tasteful  are  the  frames — never 
gaudy,  but  setting  off  the  complexion.  Voltaire  said 
that  the  ignorant  understood,  and  the  learned  admired 
him.  No  French  author  has  introduced  more  elegant 
turns  of  speech,  or  embellished  a  narrative  with  grace- 
fuller  images.  His  Eloges  are  models  in  their  way. 
Speaking  of  the  long  illness  of  Malebranche.  he  calls 


94  JOURNAL    OF 


him  a  calm  spectator  of  his  own  death.  The  sketch 
of  Leibnitz  contains  two  or  three  choice  touches.  He 
says  that  to  appreciate  the  extent  of  the  philosopher's 
genius,  we  must  "  decompose  his  character,"  and  sur 
vey  it  in  its  elements.  In  this  Eloge  has  been  dis 
covered  the  original  of  a  very  beautiful  image  of 
modern  geology — "  Des  coquillages  petrifies  dans  les 
terres,  des  pierres  ou  se  trouvent  des  empreintes  de 
poissons,  ou  de  plantes,  et  meme  de  poissons  et  de 
plantes,  qui  ne  sont  point  du  pays  ;  Medailles  incon- 
testables  du  Deluge"  I  met  with  an  early  trace  of 
the  metaphor  in  a  letter  from  Henry  Baker,  the  natu 
ralist,  to  Dr.  Doddridge :  "And  as  ancient  coins  and 
medals  struck  by  mighty  princes,  in  remembrance  of 
their  exploits,  are  highly  valued  as  evidences  of  such 
facts,  no  less  ought  these  fossil  marine  bodies  to  be 
considered  medals  of  the  Almighty,  fully  proving 
the  desolation  he  has  formerly  brought  upon  the 
earth." 

But,  with  all  his  graces,  Fontenelle  was  a  French 
man.  He  often  flutters  into  epigram  ;  and,  with  the 
ingenuity  of  our  own  Cowley,  shares  his  sparkling 
conceits  and  inverted  fancies  ;  and,  like  him,  he  soft 
ened  the  ruggedest  tempers.  He  won  the  kind  looks 
of  Warburton,  who  admired  his  prose  comedies,  which 
the  author  intended  for  a  posthumous  appearance. 
But,  as  he  pleasantly  observes,  his  length  of  life — he 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  <>5 

almost  completed  a  century — having  quite  exhausted 
his  patience,  he  determined  to  wait  no  longer,  and  re 
lieved  his  executors  of  the  publication  by  undertaking 
it  himself. 

JUNE  3rd. — Standing  under  this  lime-tree,  every  > 
bough  utters  its  own  sermon.  The  shadowy  motion 
on  the  grass  preaches.  In  the  world  nothing  is  still. 
The  earth  moves  ;  small  things  and  great  obey  the 
law ;  and  this  chequered  turf,  to  which  I  am  giving  a 
fainter  green  with  the  pressure  of  my  feet,  goes  round 
the  sun  as  swiftly  as  the  vast  forests  of  America. 

The  elements  are  always  changing.  So  is  society. 
A  merchant,  all  his  speculations  hardened  into  gold, 
swells  up  a  lord ;  or,  blown  into  air,  disappears  in 
smoke.  Nothing  but  the  Christian  mind  is  unaffected 
by  this  circular  motion,  fluidity,  and  explosion.  I 
recollect  an  illustration  in  a  black  folio  of  the  seven 
teenth  century,  rich  as  usual  in  conceits,  controversy, 
grandeur,  and  Greek :  As  a  watch,  though  tossed  up 
and  down  by  the  agitation  of  him  who  carries  it,  does 
not,  on  that  account,  undergo  any  perturbation  or  dis 
order  in  the  working  of  the  spring  and  wheels  within. 
so  the  true  Christian  heart,  however  shaken  by  the 
joltings  it  meets  with  in  the  pressure  and  tumult  of 
the  world,  suffer?  no  derangement  in  the  adjustment 


96  JOURNAL    OF 


and  action  of  its  machinery.     The  hand  still  points 
to  eternity. 

JUNE  5th. — There  is  one  passage  in  Langhorne 
so  immeasurably  superior  to  any  other  in  his  works, 
that  the  reader  is  disposed  to  transfer  Gray's  doubt, 
whether  "  Nugent  wrote  his  own  ode."  It  occurs  in 
the  Country  Justice,  at  the  close  of  an  appeal  on  be 
half  of  unfortunate  vagrants : — 

Perhaps  on  some  inhospitable  shore, 
The  houseless  -wretch  a  widow'd  parent  bore, 
"WTio  then  no  more  by  golden  prospects  led, 
Of  the  poor  Indian  begg'd  a  leafy  bed. 
Cold  on  Canadian  hills,  or  Minden's  plain, 
Perhaps  that  mother  wept  her  soldier  slain ; 
Bent  o'er  her  babe,  her  eye  dissolv'd  in  dew ; 
The  big  drops  mingling  with  the  milk  he  drew, 
Gave  the  sad  presage  of  his  future  years, 
The  child  of  misery  baptized  in  tears. 

The  last  line  is  one  of  the  most  pathetic  in  poet 
ry.  In  the  Jesuit  Bonhour's  collection  of  Thoughts 
from  the  Fathers,  I  found  the  following  apostrophe  of 
St.  Leon  :  "  Heureux  vos  larmes,  saint  Apostre,  qui, 
pour  effacer  le  peche  que  vous  cornmistes  en  renon- 
ceant  votre  Maitre,  eurent  la  vertu  d'un  sacre  bap- 
tisme."  Donne  (Serm.  cxxxi.)  has  the  same  image : 


SOIMKU    TIM  K    IN    THK    COUNTRY.  97 

"  The  tears  themselves  shall  be  the  sign ;  the  tears 
shall  be  arabassadours  of  joy;  a  present  gladness  shall 
consecrate  your  sorrow,  and  tears  shall  baptize  and 
give  a  new  name  to  your  passion."  The  coincidence 
deserves  notice. 

A  pleasant  literary  anecdote  is  connected  with, 
these  verses.  On  one  occasion,  Walter  Scott,  a  lad 
of  fifteen,  was  in  the  company  of  Burns,  at  Edin 
burgh.  There  happened  to  be  in  the  room  a  print  by 
Bunbury,  representing  a  soldier  lying  dead  on  the 
snow,  his  dog  sitting  on  one  side,  and  his  widow,  with 
a  child  in  her  arms,  on  the  other.  The  lines  of  Lang- 
horne  were  written  beneath.  Burns  shed  tears  at 
the  print,  and  inquired  after  the  author  of  the  in 
scription.  Scott  was  the  only  person  who  knew  his 
name ;  he  whispered  it  to  a  friend,  who  told  it  to 
Burns ;  and  he  rewarded  the  future  minstrel  of  Scot- 

• 

land  "  with  a  look  and  a  word,"  which  in  days  of 
glory  and  fame  were  remembered  with  pride. 

The  name  of  Langhorne  was  faintly  revived  by 
the  publication  of  Hannah  More's  Memoirs ;  but  he 
is  chiefly  known  in  connexion  with  those  mightier 
spirits,  to  whose  youthful  ears  his  musical  rhymes 
were  pleasing.  His  flute  had  two  or  three  harmoni 
ous  notes  ;  and  he  was  one  of  the  earliest  embellish 
ers  of  "  the  short  and  simple  annals  of  the  poor." 


98  JOURNAL    OF 


JUNE  7th. — Glanced  at  the  new  letters  of  Horace 
Walpole  to  Lady  Ossory,  and  notice  the  strange  like 
ness  to  Gray  in  manner  and  expression,  extending 
even  to  phrases  and  idioms.  The  affectation  of  both 
is  very  amusing,  Walpole  being  the  more  manly.  "  I 
went  the  other  day,"  he  wrote,  "  to  Scarlet's,  to  buy 
green  spectacles  ;  he  was  mighty  assiduous  to  give 
me  a  pair  that  would  not  tumble  my  hair.  '  Lord, 
sir,'  said  I,  '  when  one  is  come  to  wear  spectacles, 
what  signifies  how  one  looks  ?' "  Gray  underwent 
great  annoyance  on  this  very  account.  A  concealed 
double  eyeglass  was  the  nearest  approach  to  spectacles 
that  his  delicacy  could  endure.  One  of  the  most  dis 
agreeable  features  of  the  poet  is  a  bantering  confusion 
of  serious  and  trifling  things.  He  probably  caught 
the  disease  from  his  friend,  who  told  Cole  that  he 
would  not  give  threepence  for  Newton's  work  on  the 
Prophecies. 

The  literary  character  of  "Walpole  has  been  drawn 
by  himself  in  a  few  words :  "  I  am  a  composition  of 
Anthony  Wood,  and  Madame  Danoi  the  fairy-tale 
writer."  This  is  true.  He  had  much  of  the  minute 
learning,  but  none  of  the  dust  of  the  antiquary.  He 
always  appears  to  us  intellectually  as  he  did  to  Han 
nah  More  bodily,  in  a  primrose  suit  and  silk  stockings. 
His  apartments  are  crowded  with  rubbish,  but  he 
hangs  some  little  genre  piece  in  the  corner.  No  writer 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  99 

of  his  time  presents  such  curious  happinesses  of 
phrase.  "  Pictures  are  but  the  scenery  of  devotion  ;" 
Versailles  is  "  a  lumber  of  littleness."  I  admire,  but 
cannot  love  him.  Himself  of  the  earth,  every  word, 
and  thought  smell  of  it.  His  irreligion  is  not  very/ 
obtrusive.  He  was  a  well-dressed  infidel,  of  refined^ 
manners ;  a  kind  of  English  Voltaire,  abridged  and 
lettered,  with  gilt  leaves,  and  elegantly  tooled. 

JUNE  9th. — Stood  on  the  root-bridge  in  the  fading 
lights  of  evening,  and  listened  with  feelings  of  pensive 
sadness  to  the  chimes  from  Aberleigh.  Just  one  year 
ago,  in  tke  "  leafy  month  of  June,"  I  heard  the  same 
sounds  of  mirth  and  melancholy,  and  said  then,  as 
now — 

How  soft  the  music  of  those  village  bells, 
Falling  at  intervals  upon  the  ear 
In  cadence  sweet 

There  is  solemn  and  touching  truth  in  the  remark 
of  Pope,  that  every  year  carries  away  something  be 
loved  and  precious ;  not  destroying  or  effacing,  but 
removing  it  into  a  soft  and  visionary  twilight.  Pous- 
sin's  picture  of  a  tomb  in  Arcadia  is  the  last  year  in 
a  parable. 

It  is  in  the  nature  of  bells  to  bring  out  this  tone 


100  JOURNAL    OF 


of  mournfulness.  Every  chime  has  its  connecting 
toll.C  Each  week  locks  the  gate  of  its  predecessor, 
and  keeps  the  key.  Thus  it  becomes  a  monument 
which  the  old  sexton  Time  watches  over.  Beautiful 
is  it,  indeed,  when  studded  with  the  rich  jewels  of 
wise  hours  and  holy  minutes !  Most  magnificent  of 
sepulchres  !  The  dust  of  our  own  creations — our 
hopes,  thoughts,  virtues,  and  sins — is  to  us  the  costli 
est  deposit  in  the  burial  ground  of  the  world.  How 
appalling  would  be  the  resurrection  of  a  year,  month, 
or  week,  with  the  secret  history  of  every  man  open  in 
its  hand — a  diary  of  flame,  to  be  read  by  its  own 
glare  !  If  childhood  could  be  the  granary  gf  youth, 
youth  of  manhood,  manhood  of  old  age — if  the  year 
gone  could  be  continually  brought  back  to  cherish, 
strengthen,  and  support  the  year  coming; — Then 
might  the  Grecian  story  of  filial  piety  receive  a  new 
and  nobler  fulfilment — in  the  wasted  virtue  of  man 
hood,  invigorated  by  the  life-giving  current  of  our 
youth ;  in  the  feebleness  and  exhaustion  of  the  parent, 
renewed  by  the  glowing  bosom  of  the  child  ! 

The  steeple  of  Aberleigh  teaches  me  a  great  lesson 
— to  strengthen  any  good  disposition  into  a  habit. 
The  relationship  between  the  two  is  close  and  beauti 
ful.  Habits  are  the  daughters  of  action,  but  they 
nurse  their  mothers,  and  give  birth  to  daughters  after 
her  image,  more  lovely  and  prosperous.  The  saying 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRQ.  101 

is  Jeremy  Taylor's.  The  use  of  our  time,  then,  is  the 
criterion  of  our  condition,  and  our  wages  will  be  paid 
by  the  clock.  Sterne,  whose  life  was  only  a  journey 
of  sentiment,  has  nevertheless  made  a  wise  remark  in 
one  of  his  gossiping  letters :  "  If  you  adopt  the  rule 
of  writing  every  evening  your  remarks  on  the  past 
day,  it  will  be  a  kind  of  teM-a-tete  between  you  and 
yourself,  wherein  you  may  sometimes  become  your 
own  monitor." 

This  "  gradual  dusky  veil"  of  evening  reminds  me 
that  the  road  of  time  has  taken  a  new  turn.  Let  me 
recollect  the  admonition  of  a  famous  man,  that  the 
humblest  persons  are  bound  to'  give  an  account  of 
their  leisure ;  and,  in  the  midst  of  selitude,  to  be  of 
some  use  to  society.  This  meditation  on  a  woodland 
bridge  ought  not  to  be  fruitless.  The  spare  minutes 
of  a  year  are  mighty  labourers,  if  kept  to  their  work. 
They  overthrow,  and  build  up ;  dig,  or  empty.  There 
is  a  tradition  in  Barbary  that  the  sea  was  once  ab 
sorbed  by  ants. 

The  result  of  toil  may  not  appear :  no  pyramid 
may  rise  under  the  busy  labour  of  our  swarming 
thoughts.  Be  not  cast  down.  We  read  of  those  who 
had  watched  all  night,  "  that  as  soon  as  they  were 
come  to  land,  they  saw  a  fire  of  coals,  and  fish  laid 
thereon,  and  bread."  It  was  a  lone  and  dreary  shore; 
yet  an  unexpected  flame  cheered,  and  a  strange  Visi- 


102  JOURNAL    OF 


tor  walked  along  it.  The  chimes  of  ages  promise  the 
same  food  and  light  to  me.  In  this  dark,  troubled 
sea  of  life,  I  may  row  up  and  down  all  night  and 
catch  nothing  ;  but  at  last  the  net  will  be  let  down 
for  a  great  draught.  A  clear  fire  burns,  and  a  rich 
supper  is  spread  along  the  calm  shore  of  the  future. 
The  haven  shines  in  the  distance.  Happy  !  if  I  leave 
behind  me  the  short  epitaph  — 


Proved  by  the  ends  of  being,  to  have  been  ! 


JUNE  13th.  —  Began  Mr.  Keble's  Latin  lectures, 
the  fruit  of  his  professorship  at  Oxford.  He  discov 
ers  an  interesting  variety  of  expression  in  the  rural 
temper  of  Lucretius  and  Virgil  ;  one  retiring  to  in 
vestigate  the  mysteries,  the  other  to  enjoy  the  beau- 
ties  of  nature.  —  /The  first  lifting  her  veil  as  an  anato 
mist  ;  the  second,  as  a  lover.  Virgil  might  desire  to 
imitate,  as  he  certainly  wished  to  honour,  the  genius 
of  his  predecessor  ;  but  he  left  his  difficult  paths.  He 
felt  that,  for  his  own  hand,  sweeter  flowers,  and  of 
brighter  colours,  grew  in  the  sheltered  recesses  of  the 
hills. 

It  seems  to  be  ascertained  that,  in  the  year  in 
which  Lucretius  died  at  Athens,  Virgil,  assuming  the 
Virile  Toga,  quitted  Cremona  for  Rome.  The  mel 
ancholy  fate  of  his  contemporary  could  not  but  touch 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  103 

his  heart,  and  the  allusion  to  suicide  in  the  sixth  book 
of  the  JEneid.  breathes  the  pathos  of  affection ;  nor 
may  it  be  unjust  to  discover,  in  the  sunnier  tone  of 
Virgil's  colouring,  and  the  general  gaiety  of  his  man 
ner,  a  designed  antidote  for  the  gloom  and  austerity 
of  his  rival  in  the  art. 

A  particular  charm  of  Virgil's  poetry  resides  in 
this  engaging  freshness  and  buoyancy,  connected,  as 
they  are,  with  tender  recollections  of  early  life.  He 
imparts  the  feeling  to  the  characters  of  his  poem. 
The  wounded  soldier  lifts  his  closing  eyes  to  heaven, 
and  expires  with  the  remembrance  of  Argos  at  his 
heart. 

Virgil  continually  alludes  to  familiar  places — Lu 
cretius,  never.  Mr.  Keble  thinks  that  the  most  dili 
gent  eye  would  be  unable  to  discover  in  his  poetry  the 
name  of  one  mountain,  or  river,  introduced  by  the  im 
pulse  of  love  and  memory.  Virgil,  on  the  contrary, 
seeks  to  revive  his  associations.  Mantua  and  Cre 
mona  supply  his  landscapes.  The  neighbouring 
streams  of  Mincius,  Athesis,  and  Eridanus,  and  the 
remote  summits  of  the  Alps  and  Apennines  blend, 
however  unconsciously,  with  every  scene.  Mr.  Keble 
places  the  attraction  of  the  first  and  ninth  Bucolics 
in  their  relationship  to  the  poet's  haunts.  He  ven 
tures  to  pour  the  beloved  Eridanus  into  the  laurels  of 
Elysium.  In  like  manner,  he  compares  ^Eneas,  in  his 


104  JOURNAL    OF 


last  conflict,  to  the  crest  of  the  Apennines,  over  which 
he  had  so  often  seen  the  sun  go  down  from  the  green 
and  pastoral  dwelling  of  his  youth. 

Lucretius,  as  a  painter  of  word-landscape,  appears 
to  excel  in  his  air  of  mystery,  and  in  the  various  acci 
dents  of  light.  In  the  second  quality,  he  is  equalled 
by  Virgil,  Dante,  and  our  own  Spenser ;  but  in  the 
first,  the  Commedia  of  the  Florentine  affords  the  only 
parallel,  in  its  dim  windings  of  forest-paths,  that  send 
a  "sleepy  horror  through  the  blood." 

The  landscapes  of  Virgil  may  be  reflected  in  the 
blue  skies,  unshaken  leaves,  sunny  turf,  and  golden 
waters  of  Claude ;  while  the  dark  perspective  and 
oracular  branches  of  Lucretius  must  be  sought  in  the 
sombre  masses  and  awful  twilight  of  Poussin.  Those 
trees,  stretching  into  spectral  shade,  thrill  the  beholder 
with  some  dreadful  catastrophe  working  out  in  the 
gloom.  I  may  mention  "Abraham  journeying  to  sac 
rifice  his  son,"  in  our  National  Gallery,  as  embodying 
the  tone  of  a  Lucretian  picture.  With  regard  to  the 
delightful  descriptions  of  light,  under  different  mani 
festations,  we  are  to  remember  that  the  philosophy 
and  temper  of  Lucretius  led  him  to  contemplate  the 
atmospheric  changes  with  a  lingering  eye :  to  watch 
the  villager,  from  blue  hamlet  in  the  vine-covered  hills, 
going  forth  to  his  work ;  or,  in  the  shade  of  departing 
day— 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  105 

The  lowing  herds  wind  slowly  o'er  the  lea.       ^-'^-^*t—r> 

His  sun  and  cloud  scenery  is  exquisite.  It  reminds 
me  of  Fuseli's  praise  of  Wilson — that  having  observed 
nature  in  all  her  aspects,  he  had  a  separate  and  fitting 
touch  for  each  ;  and  that,  in  effects  of  dewy  freshness, 
and  warm  morning  and  silent  evening  lights,  few  have 
equalled,  and  fewer  excelled  him. 

JUNE  18. — Adam  Smith  draws  an  agreeable  por 
trait  of  his  friend  Hume ;  but  constant  smoothness 
and  ease  of  character  are  neither  winning  nor  truth 
ful — like  Cowper's  ice-palace,  it  smiles,  and  it  is  cold. 
In  great  men,  the  mingling  beam  and  gloom  of  mirth- 
fulness  and  melancholy  compose  a  mellow  twilight  of 
feeling  far  more  delightful.  "  Is  not  that  naivete  and 
good  humour  which  his  friends  celebrate  in  him," 
Gray  asked  Beattie,  "  owing  to  this — that  he  has  con 
tinued  all  his  days  an  infant,  but  one  who  has  unhap 
pily  been  taught  to  read  and  write  ?"  No  zeal,  no 
virtue,  no  hope ;  what  a  character !  "Warburton 
showed  his  resemblance  to  Bolingbroke.  In  fact, 
Hume  took  possession  of  the  atheistical  house  which 
Pope's  friend  had  erected ;  and,  possessing  more  taste 
and  caution,  he  fitted  it  up  to  receive  the  genteel  fam 
ilies  of  unbelief.  He  was  a  "  decorator"  of  infidelity, 
and  had  a  long  run  of  patronage.  Let  us  hope  that 
he  and  his  furniture  are  now  going  out  of  fashion. 


106  JOURNAL    OF 


JUNE  20th. — Reading  the  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian 
this  morning,  I  noticed  a  remarkable  coincidence  of 
thought  with  a  splendid  sentiment  in  the  Essay  on 
Man: 

Who  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 

A  hero  perish,  or  a  sparrow  fall, 

Atoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurl'd, 

And  now  a  bubble  bm-st,  and  now  a  world. 

The  passage  of  Scott  occurs  in  the  description  of  the 
storm  which  surprised  Staunton  and  Butler,  as  they 
were  crossing  the  Gare-loch.  "  There  is  something 
solemn  in  this  delay  of  the  storm,"  said  Sir  George : 
"  it  seems  as  if  it  suspended  its  peal  till  it  solemnized 
some  important  event  in  the  world  below."  "Alas  !" 
replied  Butler,  "what  are  we,  that  the  laws  of  nature 
should  correspond  in  their  march  with  our  ephemeral 
deeds  or  sufferings  !  The  clouds  will  burst  when  sur 
charged  with  the  electric  fluid,  whether  a  goat  is  fall 
ing  at  that  instant  from  the  cliffs  of  Arran,  or  a 
hero  expiring  on  the  field  of  battle  he  had  won." 
The  melody  of  the  prose,  with  its  dying  fall,  is  most 
grand  and  affecting. 

There  is  a  little  scene  in  the  same  story  which 
always  strikes  me  as  exceedingly  delicate  and  tender: 
I  mean  the  meeting  of  the  sisters  in  the  Tolbooth:-  — 
*•'•  The  unslazed  window  of  the  miserable  chamber  was 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  107 

open,  and  the  beams  of  a  bright  sun  fell  upon  the  bed 
where  the  sufferers  were  seated.  With  a  gentleness 
that  had  something  of  reverence  in  it,  Ratcliffc  partly 
closed  the  shutter,  and  seemed  thus  to  throw  a  veil 
over  a  scene  so  mournful." 

I  remember  an  incident  in  the  life  of  Swift  that 
is  not  unworthy  of  being  mentioned  in  connexion 
with  Scott.  Lady  Ashburnham,  daughter  of  the  Duke 
of  Orrnond,  was  one  of  the  Dean's  favourites,  and  he 
appears  to  have  lamented  her  death  with  real  grief. 
His  account  of  a  visit  to  her  bereaved  father  is  given 
in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dingley  (Jan.  4,  1712):  "  He  bore 
up  as  well  as  he  could :  but  something  happening  ac 
cidentally  in  discourse,  the  tears  were  just  falling  out 
of  his  eyes,  and  I  looked  off,  to  give  him  an  opportu 
nity  (which  he  took)  of  wiping  them  with  his  hand 
kerchief.  I  never  saw  anything  so  moving,  nor  such 
a,  mixture  of  greatness  of  mind,  and  tenderness,  and 
discretion."  What  a  leveller  the  heart  is !  The 
keeper  of  the  Tolbooth  closes  the  shutter,  to  conceal 
the  anguish  of  the  sisters ;  and  the  biographer  of 
Gulliver  turns  aside,  that  a  father  may  dry  his  tears 
for  a  daughter. 

JUNE  22nd. — This  pleasant  edition  of  Our  Village  - 
ought  to  find  its  way  into  every  parlour-window,  and 
wherever  there  is  hay-oarryiug.  or  Maying,  or  nutting, 


108  JOURNAL    OF 


or  other  rural  occupation  and  amusement.  But  to 
feel  the  full  charm  of  the  book,  the  reader  should  live 
in  the  country  it  describes :  "  This  pretty  Berkshire 
of  ours,  renowned  for  its  pastoral  villages,  its  pictu 
resque  interchange  of  common  and  woodland,  and 
small  enclosures  divided  by  lanes,  to  which  thick  bor 
ders  of  hedge-row  timber  give  a  character  of  deep  and 
forest-like  richness."  And  again:  "This  shady  yet 
sunny  Berkshire,  where  the  scenery,  without  rising 
into  grandeur,  or  breaking  into  wilderness,  is  so  peace 
ful,  so  cheerful,  so  varied,  and  so  thoroughly  English." 

Gray  considered  the  four  most  beautiful  counties 
in  England  to  be  those  of  Worcester,  Shropshire, 
Gloucester,  and  Hereford ;  to  these  he  added  Mon- 
mouth,  in  South  Wales.  One  might  have  expected 
him  to  include  Kent,  of  which  he  has  given  such 
charming  sketches ;  especially  of  its  river-views,  the 
Medway  and  shipping,  with  the  sea  breaking  on  the 
eye,  and  mingling  its  white  sails  and  blue  waters  with 
the  deeper  and  brighter  green  of  the  woods  and  corn. 

By  way  of  contrast  and  shade,  compare  the  coun 
ties  of  Warwick,  Northampton,  Huntingdon,  Cam 
bridge,  and  Bedford.  With  the  exception  of  Cam 
bridgeshire,  which,  in  its  own  "  quiet  ugliness,"  is  un 
approachable,  Northampton  has  the  least  interest  for 
the  poet,  painter,  or  admirer  of  scenery.  Dr.  Ar 
nold's  lamentation  over  his  own  nook  in  it  is  express 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  109 

ive  ;  no  woods,  only  one  copse,  no  heath,  no  down,  no 
rock,  no  ruin,  no  clear  stream,  and  scarcely  any  flow 
ers.  It  seems  an  image  of  cultivated  desolation. 
Yet,  out  of  the  wilderness  the  meditative  fancy  of 
Clare  gathered  flowers,  gentleness,  and  beauty.  So 
just  is  the  saying  of  Mr.  Keble — 

Give  true  hearts  but  earth  and  sky, 
And  some  flowers  to  bloom  and  die ; 
Homely  scenes  and  simple  views, 
Lowly  thoughts  may  best  infuse. 

To  certain  minds,  the  absence  of  grandeur  is  a 
recommendation.  Cowper,  among  the  downs  of  Ear- 
tham,  sighed  for  the  grassy  walks  of  Weston;  and 
Constable,  in  the  hills  and  solitudes  of  Westmoreland, 
felt  a  weight  on  his  spirit.  He  looked  around  in  vain 
for  churches,  farm-houses,  or  scattered  hamlets,  and 
considered  flat,  agricultural  Suffolk  to  be  a  delight- 
fuller  country  for  the  artist. 

This  feeling  explains  the  remark  of  Schlegel,  that 
a  landscape-painter  often  finds  the  dullest  spots  the 
most  suggestive.  Little  things  make  up  the  sweetest 
pictures.  A  group  of  cattle  standing  in  shade  on  a 
dark  hill,  with  a  gleam  of  sun  falling  on  clouds  in  the 
distance  ;  a  heathery  roadside  ;  an  ivy-grown  cottage 
at  the  end  of  a  lane,  running  between  hedges  of  brier- 


110  JOURNAL    OF 


roses  and  honey-suckle ;  each  furnishes  subjects  and 
food  for  the  pencil.  Give  Ruysdael  an  old  mill  and 
two  or  three  stunted  trees,  and  see  what  he  creates 
out  of  them.  Commonest  objects  abound  in  the  pic 
turesque.  The  peacock  yields  to  the  wood-pigeon,  and 
even  the  stag  to  the  forest-donkey.  Our  own  Gains 
borough  kept  one  constantly  at  hand,  that  he  might 
introduce  it  in  every  variety  of  posture  and  colour. 

This  naturalness — this  dealing  with  every-day  ap 
pearances — is  the  charm  of  Miss  Mitford's  writings. 
Mabuse  painted  Eden  with  a  sculptured  fountain  in 
the  centre.  In  Our  Village,  nothing  is  out  of  place 
or  concord.  Oranges  and  palm-trees  do  not  grow  in 
its  fields,  and  blue  humming-birds  are  never  caught  in 
the  hedges.  It  is  a  series  of  English  scenes,  with  the 
dew  on  them.  Of  course,  in  a  certain  sense,  they  are 
dressed.  The  weakness  of  Crabbe  lay  in  his  literal- 
ness.  His  sketches  are  plagiarisms  of  Nature.  He 
described  a  tree  as  Quintin  Matsys  painted  a  face. 
Miss  Mitford  has  performed  for  her  Berkshire  hamlet 
what  Cowper  did  for  Weston.  He  called  it  the  pret 
tiest  village  in  England,  and  made  it  to  be  so  in  his 
verse  and  prose.  In  his  day  it  was  pleasanter  than 
in  ours,  because  the  little  street  of  scattered  houses 
was  sheltered  by  trees.  But  the  elements  of  beauty 
were  few.  A  garden  prospect  of  orchard  bloom ;  a 


SUMMER.    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  Ill 

lime-avenue ;    one  or  two  wood-paths   breaking  into 
grassy  slopes — 

Within  the  twilight  of  their  distant  shade ; 

\ 
these  were  the  brightest  features  of  the  poet's  village. 

Fancy  and  love  imparted  the  grace. 

An  accomplished  student  of  art  has  noticed  this 
habit  of  rural  describers,  and  commended  it :  "  Nature 
is  most  defective  in  composition,  and  must  be  a  little 
assisted."  Claude's  landscapes  are  illustrations  of  the 
remark.  He  refined  and  decorated  reality,  but  with 
such  consummate  faithfulness  and  harmony  of  truth 
and  combination,  that  the  scene  appears  to  change 
with  the  tone  and  influence  of  the  hour  when  it  is 
contemplated.  Price  assures  us  that  he  sometimes 
looked  at  a  Claude,  in  the  coming  on  of  twilight,  until 
the  picture  glimmered  and  died  away  into  distance, 
like  a  real  landscape  in  the  fading  hues  of  evening. 
This  embellishment  of  woods  and  trees  has  been  called 
the  translation  of  landscape.  We  find  it  to  have  been 
largely  practised  by  the  old  Masters.  They  seldom 
painted  real  scenes,  except  upon  commission.  They 
delighted,  in  the  words  of  Sir  George  Beaumont,  to 
exhibit  what  a  country  suggested,  rather  than  wlmt  it, 
comprised.  Nature  sat  for  her  portrait,  and  they 
gave  not  only  the  colour  but  the  expression  of  her 
eyes. 


112  JOURNAL    OF 


It  would  be  easy,  as  pleasant,  to  transfer  from  Our 
Village  some  exquisite  examples  of  this  theory. 

The  author  goes  into  the  lanes  and  commons  of 
the  neighbourhood,  coming  home  to  revive  and  ar 
range  her  pictures  in  the  light  of  taste  and  memory, 
and  then,  in  a  sense  not  anticipated  by  Cowper — 

To  lay  the  landscape  on  the  snowy  sheet 

Numberless  passages  crowd  on  the  pen ;  but  I  would 
mention  particularly  her  own  territory — "  the  pride  of 
my  heart  and  the  delight  of  my  eyes,  my  garden ;" 
the  house  "like  a  bird-cage,  just  fit  to  hang  on  a 
tree ;"  a  broken  hedge-row,  with  its  mosaic  of  flower 
ing  weeds  and  mosses ;  the  green  hollow  of  little 
hills,  with  blossoming  broom,  which  we  call  a  dell ;  or 
the  wood,  beginning  to  show  on  the  reddening  bush 
and  spotted  sycamore,  the  kindling  colours  of  autumn. 
As  to  the  figures — actors  in  the  country  drama — drop 
into  Our  Village  wherever  you  please,  you  cannot  lose 
your  way.  Look  over  the  hedge  at  Jem  and  Mabel 
wheat-hoeing ;  talk  to  Mat.  Shore,  the  blind  gardener, 
about  his  tulips ;  hearken  to  little  Walter  singing  to 
himself  in  the  corn-field ;  or,  above  and  before  all, 
love  and  prize  sweet,  affectionate,  blind  Jessy  Lucas. 
A  beauty  in  these  sketches  ought  to  be  carefully 
observed — their  human  interest.  We  are  not  "enclosed 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  113 

in  a  wide  landscape,  without  life,  or  work,  or  joy  in  it. 
It  breathes  and  lives.  The  plough  moves  in  the  fur 
row,  the  sickle  flashes  among  the  corn,  the  flail  re 
sounds  at  the  barn-door,  there  is  laughter  under  the 
hawthorn,  and  a  merry  group  of  children  dances  out 
from  those  clustering  elm-trees.  In  this  agreeable 
feature  of  her  style,  the  author  reminds  me  of  Wa 
terloo.  That  charming  painter  was  distinguished  from 
his  contemporary  Ruysdael,  and  his  scholar  Hobbema, 
by  his  peculiarity  of  treating  rural  scenes,  in  relation 
to  their  influence  on  man.  His  pictures  speak  to  the 
heart  as  well  as  to  the  eye.  He  employs  very  simple 
instruments  for  the  purpose.  Perhaps  a  narrow  foot 
path  winds  across  the  fields,  and  is  lost  in  the  gloom 
of  thick  trees ;  but  a  faint  glimmer  of  a  cottage  plays 
through  the  branches.  The  domestic  interior  of  hum 
ble  affection  is  opened  to  our  eyes ;  the  fire  of  sticks 
blazes  upon  the  hearth;  the  housewife  is  busy  at  "her 
evening  care" — 

His  children  run  to  lisp  their  sire's  return, 
Or  climb  his  knees  the  envied  kiss  to  share. 

This  burying  of  life  in  the  cool  depth  of  nature, 
and  making  peacefulness  and  action  to  help  and  re 
lieve  one  another,  appears  to  me  a  happy  secret  of 
landscape  description.  It  is  never  skilfully  intro- 


114  JOURNAL    OF 


duced  without  success.  Whoever  has  looked  at  the 
works  of  Wouverman  must  have  observed  the  outline 
of  his  buildings,  cottage-roof,  shed,  or  garden-wall,  to 
be  always  broken  by  trees  or  some  kind  of  verdure. 
The  effect  is  most  pleasant  and  refreshing. 

I  have  suggested  a  comparison  of  Our  Village 
with  the  pictures  of  Waterloo ;  and  there  is  another 
master  who  may  afford  a  striking  parallel  in  a  differ 
ent  kind  of  excellence.  I  allude  to  Terburg,  the 
most  refined  and  eloquent  of  all  genre  painters.  His 
distinguishing  power  is  seen  in  his  manner  of  leaving 
a  story  to  be  partly  unravelled  by  the  spectator  him 
self  Waagen  styles  him  the  inventor  of  conversa 
tional-painting — the  genteel  comedy  of  art.  I  always 
enjoy  this  surprise  in  the  people  of  Our  Village. 

A  further  resemblance  between  the  works  of  the 
genre  painters,  and  these  sketches  of  country  life,  is 
suggested  by  their  high  finish.  The  old  velvet  chair 
of  Gerard  Dow,  worn  threadbare  by  use,  is  not  more 
startling.  It  is  scarcely  to  be  expected  that  the 
merits  of  a  school  should  be  accompanied  by  none  of 
its  defects.  I  have  heard  objections  to  the  frequent 
repetition  of  similar  characters,  incidents,  and  land 
scapes.  But  what  reader  of  taste  would  wish  them 
to  be  altered  ?  The  story  of  the  connoisseur  rises  to 
the  memory:  "  Now,"  said  he,  to  a  visitor  in  his  splen 
did  gallery,  "I  will  show  you  a  real  curiosity.  There 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  115 

is  a  Wouverman  without  a  horse  in  it."  The  omis 
sion  was  rare,  but  the  picture  was  worthless.  For 
my  own  part,  I  delight  in  seeing  the  favourite  faces, 
scenes,  or  furniture,  of  a  painter  or  author  reproduced 
under  various  combinations.  The  sameness  is  a  wit 
ness  of  authenticity.  The  jug  and  pipe  are  the  auto 
graph  of  Teniers. 

I  lay  down  my  pen  with  one  remark  upon  a  quality 
of  the  highest  interest  and  value  in  Miss  Mitford's  sto 
ries — the  good  humour,  happiness,  and  contentment  of 
her  men  and  women.  Most  of  them  live  on  the  sunny 
side  of  the  hamlet,  and  those  who  dwell  in  the  shadow 
seem  to  be  willing  and  waiting  to  cross  over  into  the 
light.  This  joyous  temperament  is  agreeably  opposed 
to  the  dark  and  stern  system  of  Crabbe.  Each  de 
lineation  is  true,  because  it  ^s  a  copy  after  the  life. 
But  Crabbe  drew  nature  in  her  degradation — Mitford, 
in  her  beauty.  Hence  the  different  aspect  which  the 
village  assumes  under  the  pencil  of  the  poet  and  the 
sketcher.  It  takes  the  colour  of  the  mind  and  feel 
ing.  Perhaps  a  tinge  of  exaggeration  may  be  observ 
able  in  both ;  the  one  elevating  and  irradiating  what 
ever  she  finds  of  things  honest  and  of  good  report  in 
the  annals  of  the  poor;  the  other,  depressing  and 
blackening  into  grotesque  deformity,  and  with  a  deep 
er  shade,  all  that  is  harsh  and  repulsive  in  their  say 
ings,  doings,  and  crimes.  We  have  a  like  result  in  art. 


116  JOURNAL    OF 


The  banditti  of  Salvator  Rosa  become  heroes;  while 
the  patriarchs  of  Rembrandt  dwindle  into  beggars. 
The  book  and  the  picture  will  always  hold  some 
prejudice  in  solution ;  but  each  may  be  a  gainer  by 
its  presence. 

JUNE  29th. — Took  up  Waller  for  a  few  minutes 
this  afternoon ;  how  fortunate  he  has  been  in  critics 
and  fame.  Denham  commended  his  brave  flights; 
Fenton  thought  his  muse  more  beautiful  than  Juno 
in  the  girdle  of  Venus ;  Clarendon  saw  in  him  the 
apparition  of  a  tenth  muse ;  Prior  joins  him  with 
Davenant  in  the  achievement  of  reforming  our  verse ; 
Pope  loved  his  music ;  Addison  praised  his  fancy 
and  rhymes ;  Atterbury  lifted  him,  as  a  master  of 
language,  above  Spens<jr ;  Blackstone — he  of  the 
Commentaries — delighted  in  "  Waller's  ease"  dis 
played  on  the  lyre  of  Pope.  Even  Johnson  welcomed 
him  with  warmth,  unusual  in  his  critical  embraces. 
In  this  clamour  of  panegyric,  Beattie  had  courage  to 
raise  up  his  hand.  "  Of  Waller,  it  can  only  be  said 
that  he  is  not  harsh."  Descending  into  modern  criti 
cism,  we  find  the  spell  retaining  much  of  its  early 
power.  "  Waller  has,  perhaps,  received  more  than 
due  praise  for  the  refinement  of  his  native  language," 
is  the  conciliatory  description  of  Southey.  The  "cor 
rect  Waller"  is  the  somewhat  colder  salutation  of 


TIME  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  117 


Campbell.  Hallam  has  a  grave  smile  in  his  favour. 
After  all,  the  reputation  of  Waller  is  hardly  to  be 
explained.  Six  or  seven  poems  omitted,  his  composi 
tion  is  not  remarkable  for  harmony  or  elegance.  To 
say  with  Atterbury,  that  the  English  tongue  came 
into  his  hands  like  a  rough  diamond,  to  be  polished 
into  beauty,  is  like  telling  us  that  the  rude-portrait 
painting  of  Titian  or  Velasquez  was  perfected  by 
Kueller.  Twenty  years  separated  the  last  pro 
duction  of  Spenser  and  the  first  of  Waller,  and 
Atterbury  triumphantly  contrasts  the  modern  grace 
and  the  sombre  antiquity.  The  archaisms  of  Spenser 
had  been  already  censured  by  Ben  Jonson  ;  and  Pope 
complained  that  — 

Spenser  himself  affects  the  obsolete. 

But  the  old  words  of  the  poet,  like  the  foreign  accent 
of  a  sweet  voice,  gave  a  charm  to  the  tone,  without, 
in  any  large  degree,  obscuring  the  sense.  The  truth 
is,  that  every  pause,  turn,  and  variety  of  expression, 
in  Waller,  are  to  be  found  in  the  magnificent  stanza 
of  Spenser.  He  had  sounded  the  depth  of  our  versi 
fication  ;  the  lyric  flow  and  organ  notes  of  Milton  ; 
the  heroic  swell  of  Dryden  ;  and  the  tuneful  antithe 
sis  of  Pope.  Open  the  Faery  Queen  at  any  page  — 


118  JOURNAL    OF 


And  ever-drizzling  rain  upon  the  loft. 

B.  L,  c.  i.,  st.  41. 
And  fed  with  words  that  could  not  choose  but  please. 

Ibid.,  54. 
Had  spread  her  purple  robe  through  dewy  aire. 

C.  ii.,  st.  7. 
A  rosy  girlond  was  the  victor's  meed. 

Ibid.,  37. 

Oh,  how  can  beauty  master  the  most  strong, 
And  simple  truth  subdue  avenging  wrong. 

C.  iii.,  st.  7. 

—  Fauns  and  satyrs  far  away, 
Within  the  wood  were  dancing  in  a  round, 
While  old  Sylvanus  slept  in  shady  arbour  sound. 

B.  I.,  c.  vi.,  st  7. 

Could  Waller  mend  these  lines?  and  they  are 
only  drops  from  a  fountain.  Spenser  made  Waller, 
although  Dryden  chose  to  call  him  the  poetical  son  of 
Fairfax.  I  know  that  Dryden  had  Waller's  author 
ity  for  claiming  the  relationship,  for  he  had  heard  him 
own  that  he  derived  the  harmony  of  his  numbers  from 
Godfrey  of  Bulloigne.  But  if  Waller  was  really 
taught  by  Fairfax,  he  only  painted  from  a  shadow  in 
the  water,  when  the  countenance  itself  was  close  by  his 
side.  I  am  not  undervaluing  the  soft  numbers  of  the 
English  Tasso,  who  was  worthy  of  an  age  that  pro 
duced  the  Faery  Queen.  His  translation  of  Tas.so 
has  some  claim  to  be  called  an  original  poem,  for 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  119 

more  than  half  of  the  images  in  it  are  said  to  be  his 
own.  The  last  line  of  the  following  stanza  is  of  the 
number — 

And  forth  she  went,  a  ship  for  merchandize, 
Full  of  rich  stuff,  but  none  for  sale  exposed, 

A  veil  obscur'd  the  sunshine  of  her  eyes, 
The  rose  within  herself  Iier  sweetness  closed. 

But  let  Waller  receive  his  due  praise.  To  the 
old  English  cadence  he  imparted  a  French  playful 
ness.  His  fancy  was  pleasing  and  graceful,  and  his 
poetic  feelings  were  refined  and  sincere.  His  pane 
gyric  on  the  Protector  contains  a  few  lines  of  exceed 
ing  merit,  as  in  the  allusion  to  the  quarrel  of  Caesar, 
Antony,  and  Brutus — 

That  sun  once  set,  a  thousand  meaner  stare 
Gave  a  dim  light  to  violence  and  wars. 

And  the  description  of  England,  weary  and  sad,  lay 
ing  her  head  on  the  bosom  of  Cromwell,  is  a  grand 
design  for  a  historical  picture. 

JUNE  30th. — Spent  ten  minutes  in  watching— 
'Mid  the  deep  umbrage  of  a  green  hill's  side, 


120  JOURNAL  OF 


the  birth,  growth,  and  death  of  a  rainbow.  Springing 
from  the  fir-trees  behind  the  church,  it  over-arched 
the  garden  where  our  departed  parishioners  rest,  and 
seemed  to  fix  its  pedestal  of  ruby  and  emerald  on 
the  opposite  cornfield.  The  ploughman  is  just  creep 
ing  from  under  the  dripping  hedge,  and  returns  to  his 
toil  through  a  gate  of  glory.  While  I  look  into  the 
sky,  the  leaves  sparkle  with  a  dazzling  splendour, 

—  downy  gold 
And  colours  dipped  in  heaven  ; 

and  now  the  lighted  column  dissolves  in  a  rain  of 
purple  and  amethyst.  The  field,  under  the  gilded 
rim  of  the  distant  horizon,  looks  as  if  it  were  sown 
with  precious  stones,  broken  up  into  dust ;  for  the 
dying  rainbow  has  melted  away  on  the  ground.  I 
never  saw  anything  so  wonderful — of  nature,  and  yet 
above  her.  Turner  has  not  imagined  on  canvas  a 
combination  of  tints  more  extravagant.  All  is  fresh 
ness,  transparency,  and  bloom.  What  a  pleasant  tu 
mult  in  the  green  hedge-rows  and  glittering  grass ! 
A  thought  comes  into  my  mind,  as  I  shake  the  rain 
out  of  this  lily,  how  calm  and  unpretending  is  the 
growth  of  everything  beautiful  in  God's  visible  world ! 
no  noise !  no  pretension !  You  never  hear  a  rose 
opening,  or  a  tulip  shooting  forth  its  gorgeous  streaks. 


SUMMER.    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  121 

The  soul  increases  in  beauty  as  its  life  resembles  the 
flower's  !  Addison  said  that  our  time  is  most  profit 
ably  employed  in  doings  that  make  no  figure  in  the 
world.  He  spoke  from  experience.  Often  must  he 
have  contrasted  his  solitary  walks  in  the  cloisters  of 
Magdalen  with  the  sumptuous  turmoil  of  Holland 
House  ;  and  the  cheerful  greeting  of  a  college  friend 
on  the  banks  of  the  Cherwell,  with  the  silken  rustle 
of  the  imperious  Warwick !  And  there  is  yet  another 
reflection  to  be  drawn  from  this  vanished  rainbow: 
it  is  the  remembrance  of  that  Bow  of  Faith  which 
paints  the  rainy  clouds  of  our  life  with  beauty : 

—  the  soft  gleam  of  Christian  worth 
Which  on  some  holy  house  we  mark ; 
Dear  to  the  pastor's  aching  heart^ 
To  think,  where'er  he  looks,  such  gleam  may  have  a  part. 

JULY  1st. — It  is  impossible  to  read  a  page  of  lit 
erary  history  without  being  amazed  by  the  vast  capa 
city  of  recollection  in  famous  men.  The  great  Latin 
critic  measured  genius  by  memory.  Remarkable 
stories  are  told  of  one  of  his  own  countrymen.  Se 
neca,  in  his  youth,  repeated  two  thousand  words  in 
the  order  in  which  they  had  been  uttered.  In  mod 
ern  times,  Mozart,  with  the  help  of  a  sketch  in  the 
crown  of  his  hat,  carried  away  the  MISERERE  of  Al- 
legri,  which  he  heard  in  the  Sistine  chapel, 
fi 


122  JOURNAL    OP 


English  theology  furnishes  several  splendid  exam 
ples  of  the  faculty.  Jewell  was  especially  distin 
guished.  On  one  occasion,  the  martyr  Hooper  wrote 
forty  Irish  words,  which  Jewell,  after  three  or  four 
perusals,  repeated  according  to  their  position,  back 
wards  and  forwards.  He  performed  a  feat  not  less 
difficult  with  a  passage  from  Erasmus,  which  Lord 
Bacon  read  to  him.  Saunderson  knew  by  heart  the 
Odes  of  Horace,  the  Offices  of  Cicero,  and  a  consid 
erable  portion  of  Juvenal  and  Persius.  Bates,  the 
eloquent  friend  of  Howe,  rivalled  the  Greek  philoso 
pher  mentioned  by  Pliny ;  and  having  delivered  a 
public  and  unwritten  address,  went  over  it  again  with 
perfect  ease  and  accuracy.  Warburton  was  not  infe 
rior  to  his  illustrious  predecessors.  His  common 
place-book  was  an  old  almanac,  three  inches  square, 
in  which  he  inserted  occasional  references,  or  hints  of 
thoughts  and  sentences,  to  be  woven  into  his  composi 
tions.  But  all  the  erudition  of  the  Divine  Legation 
was  intrusted  to  memory.  Pope's  description  of  Bo- 
lingbroke  is  true  of  Warburton :  "  He  sits  like  an 
intelligence,  and  recollects  all  the  question  within 
himself."  Lord  Clarendon  declared  that  Hales,  of 
Eton,  carried  about  in  his  memory  more  learning 
than  any  scholar  in  the  world. 

Turning  into  a  wider  path,  we  find  men  of  differ 
ent  ages  and  dispositions  employing  this  endowment  in 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  123 

poetical  acquisitions.  Gassendi  had  on  his  lips  the 
poetry  of  Lucretius ;  M.  Angelo,  the  greater  part  of 
Dante  and  Petrarch ;  and  Galileo,  of  Ariosto,  Pe 
trarch,  and  Berni.  Fontenelle  mentions  the  ability 
of  Leibnitz,  even  in  old  age,  to  repeat  nearly  all  the 
poetry  of  Virgil,  word  for  word  ;  an  amusing  contrast 
to  Malebranche,  who  never  read  ten  verses  without 
disgust.  To  these  instances  may  be  added  that  of 
Pope,  who  had  not  only  a  general,  but  local  memory 
of  much  strength.  He  recollected  the  particular  page 
of  the  book  in  which  the  fact  or  story  was  related. 
"  If,"  wrote  Atterbury,  "  you  have  not  read  the  verses 
lately,  I  am  sure  you  remember  them,  because  you 
forget  nothing." 

I  will  put  down  one  case  of  memory  ingeniously 
used,  and  another  of  the  talent  largely  possessed,  but 
without  flexibility  or  advantage.  The  former  refers 
to  the  renowned  Hyder  Ali.  Unable  to  read  or  write, 
he  had  an  ingenious  contrivance  for  insuring  the  ve 
racity  of  his  correspondence.  His  secretary,  having 
prepared  the  letter,  read  it  aloud ;  it  was  then  given 
to  another  person,  who  repeated  it ;  and  any  discrep 
ancy  between  the  two  was  punished  by  the  execution 
of  the  scribe.  The  next  example  refers  to  Walter 
Scott's  friend,  Dr.  Leyden.  A  single  perusal  of  an 
Act  of  Parliament,  or  any  long  document,  prepared 
him  to  recite  it ;  but  the  collective  was  unaccompanied 


124   '  JOURNAL    OF 


by  the  analytical  power.  He  remembered  the  whole, 
not  the  parts.  To  recover  a  passage  or  sentence,  he 
was  obliged  to  return  to  the  beginning.  Wallis,  the 
mathematician,  without  light,  pen,  ink,  or  paper,  ex 
tracted  the  square  root  of  twenty-seven  places  of  fig 
ures,  and  kept  the  unwritten  result  in  his  memory 
during  a  month. 

In  literature  and  art,  memory  is  a  synonyme  for 
invention ;  it  is  the  life-blood  of  imagination,  which 
faints  and  dies  when  the  veins  are  empty.  The  saying 
of  Keynolds  has  the  force  of  an  axiom :  "  Genius  may 
anticipate  the  season  of  maturity ;  but  in  the  educa 
tion  of  a  people,  as  in  that  of  an  individual,  memory 
must  be  exercised  before  the  powers  of  reason  and 
fancy  can  be  expanded ;  nor  may  the  artist  hope  to 
equal  or  surpass,  till  he  has  learned  to  imitate  the 
works  of  his  predecessors."  Mozart  studied  the  pro 
ductions  of  every  renowned  composer  with  intense  in 
dustry. 

The  memory  must  be  educated  in  order  to  be  ser 
viceable.  A  straggling  field  of  learning  unenclosed 
affords  poor  and  insufficient  pasturage.  Boundary- 
lines  are  indispensable.  As  Shenstone  said,  our 
thoughts  and  observations  must  be  sorted.  This  art 
of  cultivation  may  be  condensed  into  four  rules — 1. 
The  habit  of  fixing  the  mind,  like  the  eye,  upon  one 
object.  2.  The  application  of  the  powers  of  reflec- 


Sl.MMKR    TI.Mi:    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  \    125 


tion.  3.  The  watchfulness  of  understanding  which  is 
known,  in  a  good  sense,  as  curiosity.  4.  Method. 
After  every  effort  and  precaution,  memory  is  that  del 
icate  hand  of  the  intellect  which  seems  to  be  most 
susceptible  of  violence  or  disease ;  its  fine  nerves 
quickly  lose  their  energy,  and  cease  to  obey  the  im 
pulse  of  the  mind.  The  muscular  sense  of  the  mem 
ber  decays  and  vanishes. 

Locke  has  illustrated  the  varying  strength  and 
duration  of  this  faculty  (Human  Understanding,  ch. 
x.  sec.  5)  by  a  metaphor,  unsurpassed  in  our  language 
for  beauty  of  conception,  aptness  of  application,  and 
completeness  of  structure.  "  Our  minds  represent  to 
us  those  tombs  to  which  we  are  approaching ;  where  , 
though  the  brass  and  marble  remain,  yet  the  inscrip 
tions  are  effaced  by  time,  and  the  imagery  moulders  j 
away.X~How  much  the  constitution  of  our  bodies,  and 
the  make  of  our  animal  spirits,  are  concerned  in  this, 
and  whether  the  temper  of  the  brain  makes  this  dif 
ference,  that  in  some  it  retains  the  characters  drawn 
on  it  like  marble,  in  others  like  freestone,  and  in  others 
little  better  than  sand,  I  shall  not  here  inquire. 
Though  it  may  seem  probable,  that  the  constitution  of 
the  body  does  sometimes  influence  the  memory  ;  since 
we  sometimes  find  a  disease  quite  strip  the  memory  of 
all  its  ideas ;  and  the  flames  of  a  fever,  in  a  few  days, 
calcine  all  those  images  into  dust  and  confusion, 


126  JOURNAL    OF 


which  seemed  to  be  as  lasting  as  if  engraved  on  mar 
ble." 

The  influence  of  sorrow  or  sickness  upon  the  mem 
ory  might  be  considered  with  great  interest.  Dr. 
Rush,  an  American  physician,  records  a  touching  cir 
cumstance.  He  was  called  to  visit  a  woman  whom  he 
•-{-,  had  known  in  childhood.''  He  found  her  rapidly  sink 
ing  in  typhus  fever.  Three  words — "  the  Eagle's 
Nest" — at  once  soothed  and  brightened  her  mind. 
The  tree  had  grown  on  her  father's  farm,  and  the 
name  brought  back  the  freshness  and  joy  of  her  early 
days.  From  that  hour  she  began  to  amend,  and  the 
fever  left  her : 

One  clear  idea  wakened  in  the  breast 
By  memory's  magic  lets  in  all  the  rest. 

Widely  may  the  story  be  expanded  and  applied  ! 
If  the  desolate  alleys  and  attics  of  London  could 
speak,  they  would  tell  how  the  old  familiar  haunts  of 
youth  and  manhood  return  upon  the  heart ;  how  fields, 
rivers,  or  villages,  shine  before  the  eyes ;  how  the 
woodbine,  flaunting  up  the  cottage  window,  hangs  its 
white  clusters  down  the  damp  walls  of  the  cellar. 
Chaucer  rejoiced  in  the  daisy  springing  through  the 
chinks  of  his  dungeon  ;  Shakspere  watched  the  moon 
light  chequer  the  boards  of  the  Globe  theatre,  just  as 
it  slept  on  the  banks  of  the  green  lanes  round  Strat- 


SUMMER    TIM  1C    IN    Till:    COUNTRY.  127 

ford  ;  Goldsmith  heard  the  nightingale  in  the  pauses 
of  Green  Arbour  Court  ;  Bloomfield  saw  the  orchard 
bloom  shaken  by  thrushes,  startled  in  their  song,  over 
his  dark  garret  ;  when  the  thump  of  the  hammer  on 
some  impracticable  sole  recalled  the  flail  in  a  Suffolk 
barn,  descending  "  full  on  the  destined  ear  ;"  Words 
worth  beheld  the  dim  Abbey  of  Tintern,  and  green 
farms  along  the  pastoral  Wye,  in  the  tumult  and  fever 
of  London  life.  Beautiful  memory  of  the  eyes  !  Yes, 
if  the  squalid  courts  of  great  cities  might  speak— 
dingy  walls  and  broken  casements  publish  their  con 
fessions—what  histories  they  would  tell  of  suffering, 
bleeding,  illuminated  genius:—  ^f  stricken  hearts, 
fainting  with  the  arrow,  and  retiring  to  lonely  corners 
to  die  ;  yet,  by  the  enchantment  of  imagination,  trans 
forming  hovels  into  palaces,  miserable  alleys  into  gar 
dens  of  beauty,  and  glades  "  mild  opening  to  the  gold 
en  day." 

JULY  2nd.  —  Read  the  fourteenth  sermon  of  Bishop 
Patrick,  in  the  volume  published  after  his  death.  I 
was  aware  that  Richardson's  Pamelahad  been  recom 
mended  from  the  pulpit,  but  did  not  know  until  this 
morning  that  the  Essays  of  Cowley  were  publicly 
praised  by  the  learned  Bishop  of  Ely.  He  is  speak 
ing  of  princes  whose  power  failed  to  afford  them  em 
ployment  or  happiness.  "  One  of  them  (as  a  rare 


/ 


'    //<  "  '  '•  •*• 


128  JOURNAL    OF 


person  of  our  nation  hath  expressed  it  better  than  I 
can  do)  who  styled  himself  lord  and  god  of  all  the 
earth,  could  not  tell  how  to  pass  his  day  pleasantly 
without  spending  two  or  three  hours  in  catching  flies, 
and  killing  them  with  a  bodkin."  The  "rare  person" 
is  Cowley,  to  whom  Patrick  refers  in  the  margin. 
The  passage  is  in  the  Essay  on  Greatness,  where  we 
meet  with  an  amusing  allusion  to  contemporary  man 
ners  :— £"  Is  anything  more  common  than  to  see  our 
ladies  of  quality  wear  such  high  shoes  as  they  cannot 
walk  in  without  one  to  lead  them,  and  a  gown  as  long 
again  as  their  body,  so  that  they  cannot  stir  to  the 
next  room  without  a  page  or  two  to  hold  it  up  ?" 

The  honour  bestowed  on  Cowley  and  Richardson 
was  afterwards  shared  by  Gray.  Home,  the  author 
of  Douglas,  was  with  a  relation  in  the  little  church 
called  Haddo's  Hold,  when  the  minister  introduced  a 
panegyric  of  the  Elegy  in  a  Country  Churchyard, 
then  recently  published.  But  this  tribute  of  applause 
was  surpassed  by  another  from  a  very  different  per- 
^  son.  The  anecdote  was  first  related  by  Playfair,  in 
the  Life  of  Professor  Robinson,  who  served  as  an 
engineer  under  General  Wolfe.  On  the  evening  be 
fore  the  battle  of  Quebec,  he  accompanied  the  com 
mander  in  his  visits  to  some  of  the  posts: — "As  they 
rowed  along,  the  General,  with  much  feeling,  repeated 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  129 

nearly  the  whole  of  Gray's  Elegy  to  an  officer  who 
sat  with  him  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  adding,  as  he 
concluded — '  that  he  would  prefer  being  the  author  of 
that  poem  to  the  glory  of  beating  the  French  to-mor 
row."  Wolfe  was  a  young  man,  and  on  the  following 
day  was  to  realize  the  truth  of  one  of  the  grandest 
lines  in  the  poem  he  recited — 

The  paths  of  glory  lead  but  to  the  grave. 

If  Gray  had  known  of  this  river  scene,  he  would  have 
found  something  more  serious  to  write  to  Dr.  Whar- 
ton  (Nov.  28,  1759)  than  the  tale  of  a  declamatory 
person  "  proposing  a  monument  to  Wolfe.  In  the 
course  of  it  he  wiped  his  eyes  with  one  handkerchief, 
and  Beckford  (who  seconded  him)  cried  too,  and 
•wiped  with  two  handkerchiefs  at  once,  which  was  very 
moving." 

JULY  3rd. — Have  the  readers  of  Paley  observed 
the  correspondence  between  the  beginning  of  his  fa 
mous  chapter  on  Property,  and  a  passage  in  Ben  Jon- 
son's  comedy  of  the  Fox,  in  that  inimitable  scene 
where  Volpone,  with  the  help  of  his  servant  Mosca, 
deceives  the  hypocritical  inquirers  after  his  health : — 

6* 


130 


JOURNAL    OF 


BEN  JONSON. 

—  And  besides,  sir, 
We  are  not  like  the  thresher 

that  does  stand 
With  a  huge  flail,  watching  a 

heap  of  corn, 
And,  hungry,  dares  not  taste 

the  smallest  grain, 
But  feeds  on  mallows  and  such 

bitter  herbs. 


PALEY. 

"If  you  should  see  a  flock 
of  pigeons  in  a  field  of  corn, 
and  if,  (instead  of  each  pick 
ing  where  and  what  it  liked, 
taking  just  as  much  as  it 
wanted,  and  no  more,)  you 
should  see  ninety  and  nine  of 
them  gathering  all  they  got 
into  a  heap,  reserving  nothing 
for  themselves  but  the  chaff 
and  refuse." 


Doubtless  this  resemblance  was  accidental ;  but  Paley 
was  an  admirable  thief.  Property,  in  his  hands,  bears 
compound  interest.  He  plundered  his  brethren  like 
a  genius  ;  a  peculiarity  which,  according  to  Warbur- 
ton,  made  Virgil  an  original  author,  and  Blackinore 
an  imitator : — "  for  they  certainly  were  borrowers 
alike." 


JULY  5th. — We  have  in  Berks  a  few  picturesque 
old  houses,  scattered  up  and  down,  and  they  always 
contribute  a  most  pleasing  interest  to  a  country  walk. 
The  villages  round  Cambridge  abound  in  them.  In 
Kent,  the  half-timbered  houses  are  distinguished  by 
the  name  of  wood-noggin,  because  the  pieces  of  tim 
ber  used  in  the  framing  are  called  wood-nogs,  nogging 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  131 

"being  a  species  of  brickwork  carried  up  in  panels 
between  quarters."  Sometimes  flowers  and  patterns 
are  worked  in  the  plaster.  At  Newnham,  near  Fe- 
versham,  is  a  house  of  this  description,  with  a  red 
ground  and  white  flowers.  The  half-timber  houses  of 
Cheshire,  familiarly  known  as  "  post  and  pan  houses," 
are  often  very  picture-like ;  and  we  have  only  to  look 
at  the  works  of  the  old  masters  to  recognize  the  value 
of  these  architectural  embellishments.  Ostade  adapt 
ed  and  combined  them  with  wonderful  skill.  His 
buildings  of  unequal  height  are  thrown  into  different 
degrees  of  perspective ;  the  sides,  in  the  words  of 
Price,  being  "varied  by  projecting  windows  and  iron ; 
by  sheds  supported  by  brackets,  with  flower-pots  in 
them ;  by  the  light,  airy,  and  detached  appearance  of 
cages  hung  out  from  the  wall ;  by  porches  and  trel 
lises  of  various  construction,  often  covered  with  vine 
or  ivy."  We  observe  the  same  kind  of  effect  in  the 
"  chateau"  of  Rubens.  The  turrets  gleam  among  the 
trees ;  thin  smoke  just  vanishes  into  cloud ;  the  sun 
glows  on  the  windows.  Add  an  antique  balustrade,  a 
foot-bridge  with  anglers  leaning  over,  a  few  peasants, 
a  fowler,  windmill  sails  faintly  seen  in  the  distance — 
slight  circumstances — and  what  a  composition  they 
make !  Modern  improvements  are  rapidly  dismant 
ling  our  old  cities.  The  German  traveller,  Kohl, 
mentions  Salisbury  as  the  only  town  in  England 


132  JOURNAL    OF 


where  he  saw  a  large  number  of  houses  with  thatched 
roofs,  and  sprinkled  with  moss. 

JULY  7th. — Looked  over  a  little  volume  showing 
the  obligations  of  literature  to  the  mothers  of  Eng 
land.  Our  greatest  monarch  opens  the  record.  Asser 
relates,  that  Alfred  was  tempted  into  learning  to  read 
by  the  splendour  of  a  MS.  which  his  mother  promised 
him.  There  is  a  well-known  story  of  Chatterton's 
faculties  being  awakened  by  the  illumined  capitals  of 
some  French  music.  But  the  early  passion  for  books 
was  never  developed  more  strikingly  than  in  Tasso 
and  Shenstone,  though  with  such  unequal  results. 
Tasso,  in  his  eighth  year,  began  his  studies  with  the 
rising  sun,  and  was  so  impatient  for  the  hour,  that  his 
mother  often  sent  him  to  school  with  a  lantern.  Shen 
stone' s  mother  quieted  him  for  the  night  by  wrapping 
up  a  piece  of  wood  in  the  shape  of  a  book  and  putting 
it  under  his  pillow.  Burns  caught  the  music  of  old 
ballads  from  his  mother  singing  at  her  wheel. 

A  living  poet  has  drawn  the  character  of  such  a 
loving  and  Christian  parent  with  eloquence  and  feel 
ing  not  unbecoming  the  theme : — 

Her  by  her  smile  how  soon  the  stranger  knows, 
How  soon  by  his  the  glad  discovery  shows, 
As  to  her  lips  she  lifts  the  lovely  boy, 
What  answering  looks  of  sympathy  and  joy ! 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  133 

He  walks,  lie  speaks!     In  many  a  broken  word 
His  wants,  his  wishes,  and  his  griefs  are  heard. 
And  ever,  ever  to  her  lap  he  flies, 
When  rosy  sleep  comes  on  with  sweet  surprise ; 
Locked  in  her  arms,  his  arms  across  her  flung, 
(That  name  most  dear,  for  ever  on  his  tongue.) 
But  soon  a  nobler  task  demands  her  care, 
Apart  she  joins  his  little  hands  in  prayer, 
Telling  of  Him  who  sees  in  secret  there. 
And  now  the  volume  on  her  knee  has  caught 
His  wandering  eye — now  many  a  written  thought, 
Never  to  die,  with  many  a  lisping  sweety 
His  moving,  murmuring  lips,  endeavour  to  repeat. 

No  incident  in  the  sad  story  of  Bloomfield  is  so 
pleasing  as  his  return  to  the  home  of  his  childhood, 
after  a  wearisome  absence  of  twelve  years.  He  took 
the  Farmer's  Bo'y^in  his  hand,  a  present  for  his 
mother.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  eventful  morning 
when  she  travelled  with  him  to  London,  and  left  him 
with  his  elder  brother  in  one  of  the  dismallest  courts 
of  that  great  city,  "with  a  charge,  as  he  valued  a 
mother's  blessing,  to  watch  over  him,  to  set  good  ex 
amples  for  him,  and  never  to  forget  that  he  had  lost 
his  father." 

Bishop  Jewell  had  his  mother's  name  engraved  on 
a  signet-ring,  and  Lord  Bacon  poured  his  heart  into 
one  short  sentence  in  his  will : — "  For  my  burial,  I 
desire  it  may  be  in  St.  Michael's  Church,  near  St. 


134  JOURNAL    OF 


Alban's ;  there  was  my  mother  buried."  At  Dulwich, 
in  a  dark  gown  trimmed  with  fur,  holding  a  book,  we 
see  the  mother  of  Rubens,  who,  losing  his  father  in 
childhood,  was  reared  by  her  watchful  tenderness. 
Pope  wrote  no  lines  more  affecting  than  the  four  in 
scribed  on  the  column  to  his  mother  in  the  garden  at 
Twickenham.  By  Cowper's  verses  on  his  mother's 
picture  we  might  place  the  letter  of  Gray :  ;;  It  is  long 
since  I  heard  you  were  gone  in  haste  to  Yorkshire,  on 
account  of  your  mother's  illness ;  and  the  same  letter 
informed  me  that  she  was  recovered,  otherwise  I  had 
then  wrote  to  you  to  beg  you  would  take  care  of  her, 
and  to  inform  you  that  I  had  discovered  a  thing  very 
little  known,  which  is,  that  in  one's  whole  life  one  can 
never  have  any  more  than  a  single  mother."  After 
his  death,  her  clothes  were  found  in  the  trunk  as  she 
had  left  them,  her  son  never  having  had  courage  to 
open  it  and  distribute  the  legacies.  Two  celebrated 
persons  not  unknown  to  Gray,  Warburton  and  Hurd, 
have  touched  the  same  chord  of  feeling ;  and  in  mod 
ern  times  its  music  has  been  heard  in  the  homes  of 
genius.  In  one  of  Wordsworth's  sonnets — Catechis 
ing — is  a  pleasing  allusion  to  the  days  of  boyhood : — 

How  fluttered  then  thy  anxious  heart  for  me, 
Beloved  mother !     Thou  whose  happy  hand 
Had  bound  the  flowers  I  wore  with  faithful  tie. 
Sweet  flowers!  at  whose  inaudible  command 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY.  135 

Her  countenance,  phantom-like,  doth  reappear! 
0,  lost  too  early  for  this  frequent  tear, 
And  ill  requited  by  this  heart-felt  sigh. 

And  one  more  famous  than  Wordsworth  has  given  the 
same  testimony:  it  is  of  Walter  Scott  that  the  writer 
speaks :  "  On  lifting  up  his  desk,  we  found  arranged  in 
careful  order  a  series  of  little  objects,  so  placed  that 
his  eye  might  rest  on  them  every  morning  before  he 
began  his  tasks.  There  were  the  old-fashioned  boxes 
that  had  garnished  his  mother's  toilette,  when  he,  a 
sickly  child,  slept  in  her  dressing-room ;  the  silver 
taper-stand  which  the  young  advocate  had  bought  for 
her  with  his  first  five-guinea  fee :  a  row  of  small 
packets  inscribed  with  her  hand,  and  containing  the 
hair  of  those  of  her  offspring  who  had  died  before  her, 
and  more  things  of  the  like  sort  recalling  '  The  old 
familiar  faces.'  "  I  will  write  here,  by  way  of  scholi 
ast,  the  beautiful  verses  of  that  poet  whom,  of  contem 
poraries,  Scott  most  admired — Crabbe  : 

Arrived  at  home,  how  then  he  gazed  around 
On  every  place  where  she  no  more  was  found ; 
The  seat  at  table  she  was  wont  to  fill, 
The  fire-side  chair  still  set,  but  vacant  still ; 
The  Sunday  pew  she  filled  with  all  her  race ; 
Each  place  of  hers  was  now  a  sacred  place ! 

Nor  has  literature  any  monopoly  in  this  affection 


136  JOURNAL    OF 


of  the  heart.  The  desk  and  the  battle-field  tell  the 
same  story.  The  circumstance  in  Sir  John  Moore's 
history,  that  falls  upon  the  ear  with  the  strongest  pa 
thos,  is  the  message  he  faltered  out  to  his  mother, 
while  falling  from  his  horse  at  Corunna. 

JULY  9th. — Read  Mr.  Keble's  Praelections,  ix.,  x. 
There  may  be  truth,  as  there  certainly  is  beauty,  in 
his  suggestion,  that  in  all  the  varieties  of  literary 
composition,  order  and  harmony  can  be  traced.  First 
come  the  glow,  the  animation,  the  pride  of  the  na 
tional  heart,  in  the  magnificent  legions  of  ancestral 
renown ;  this  is  the  poetry  of  the  Epos.  Then  wind 
along  the  diversified  scenes  of  life,  in  its  dignity  of 
dominion,  splendour  of  exploit,  and  solemnity  of  grief ; 
this  is  the  many-coloured  episode  of  the  drama. 
Lastly  appear  the  sweeter  pictures  of  retirement  and 
peace.  The  traveller,  tired  of  wandering,  sighs  for 
home  ;  the  glitter  of  the  pageant  melts,  and  the  soul 
reveals  its  indwelling  principle  of  immortality  by  rest 
less  desires  after  pleasures  simpler  and  more  enduring. 
The  ocean  of  mystery  rolls  onward  beneath  the  down- 
stooping  and  burning  eye.  Then  Nature,  neglected 
and  despised,  uncovers  her  bosom  to  her  child  hanging 
over  the  precipice,  and  wins  him  back  to  her  arms  with 
the  endearing  tenderness  of  the  mother.  And  this  is 
the  poetry  of  rural  description. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  137 

Those  reflections  of  heaven,  which  we  call  the 
charms  of  nature,  may  be  intended  by  the  merciful 
Architect  to  breathe  a  sacred  tranquillity  and  resigna 
tion  over  His  weary  people.  And  if  it  be  objected 
that  holy  men  of  old,  whose  lives  were  kindled  with 
fire  from  the  altar,  did  not  so  regard  or  employ  the 
scenes  around  them,  I  think  that  Mr.  Keble  has  sup 
plied  an  explanation.  They  possessed  what  the  Greek 
and  Latin  poets  wanted — a  sure  and  certain  hope  of 
lasting  blessedness  and  repose.  They  needed  not  the 
sheltering  embrace  of  woods,  and  the  still  valleys  of 
pastoral  solitude,  to  cheer  and  soothe  their  disquieted 
souls.  They  did  not  look  to  the  autumn  sun,  to  gild 
their  dark  path  and  journey,  because  a  purer  light  was 
always  present,  shedding  over  their  thoughts  and  foot 
steps  a  glory  that  neither  sickness,  nor  poverty,  nor 
danger,  nor  death  itself,  could  extinguish.  The  ob 
jects  of  love  scattered  over  the  earth  were  observed. 
They  used  them  to  magnify  the  splendour  and  attri 
butes  of  the  Creator ;  not  to  mitigate  the  sufferings 
or  disperse  the  griefs  of  the  creature.  They  longed 
for  the  wings  of  the  dove,  not  that  they  might  flee 
away  to  the  mountain-top,  or  the  gloom  of  the  cedar ; 
but  yearned  for  the  fairer  country,  whither  they  knew 
themselves  to  be  travelling.  So  they  made  this  world, 
with  all  its  delights,  a  ladder  to  the  next,  and  life  an 
Olivet,  where  the  cloud  of  Paradise  might  descend. 


138  JOURNAL    OF 


The  early  Christians  had  no  descriptive  poetry ;  they 
found  other  organs  of  utterance — the  Hebrew  prophe 
cies,  prayers,  songs  of  devotion,  the  Sacraments  ;  these 
were  the  veins  carrying  along  the  fervid  blood  of 
the  spiritual  frame.  Christian  truth  was  Christian 
poetry. 

The  origin  of  rural  song  has  occasioned  less  con 
troversy  than  the  rank  to  be  assigned  to  it.  The 
merry-making  or  quarrelling  of  boors  in  Teniers,  and 
the  familiar  life  of  Brouwer  or  Ostade,  are  excellent 
in  their  kind;  but  Reynolds  estimates  its  value  by 
the  rare  or  frequent  introduction  of  the  passions,  as 
they  appear  in  general  and  more  enlarged  nature. 
This  rule  he  applies  to  the  battle-pieces  of  Bourgog- 
none,  the  gallantries  of  Watteau,  the  landscapes  of 
Claude,  and  the  sea-views  of  Vandervelde.  In  all  of 
which  he  discovers  the  same  claim,  in  different  de 
grees,  to  the  title  and  dignity  of  a  painter,  as  a  sati 
rist,  sonneteer,  epigrammatist,  or  describer,  might  as 
sert  to  that  of  a  poet.  But  this  criticism,  however 
just  of  colour  and  design,  bears  very  weakly  on  com 
positions  of  the  pen. 

JULY  1 1th. — There  is  a  saying  of  Pascal  that  trees 
not  fruitful  in  their  native  earth,  often  yield  abundant 
ly  if  transplanted.  I  have  just  fallen  upon  an  illustra 
tion  in  Chalmers'  discourse  on  the  "  Expulsive  power 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  139 

of  a  new  affection."  His  argument  is  after  this  man 
ner.  Practical  morality  has  two  methods  of  dis 
placing  the  love  of  the  world  in  the  heart ;  one  by 
showing  the  vanity  of  it,  and  making  its  rejection  flow 
out  of  a  sense  of  uuworthiness  in  the  thing  desired  ; 
another,  by  exhibiting  a  fresh  object,  and  substituting 
a  new  appetite  and  affection  for  the  old.  He  proves 
that  the  constitution  of  our  nature  does  not,  instinct 
ively  or  voluntarily,  cast  out  a  passion  for  its  native 
baseness.  One  must  be  expelled  by  another  ;  the  evil 
by  the  good.  The  heart  cannot  be  empty.  The  mo 
ral,  like  the  physical  system,  abhors  a  vacuum.  The 
youth  of  folly  has  its  old  age  of  cards.  ^The  tumult 
of  the  ball  subsides  into  a  shuffle.  There  must  ever 
be  the  ascendancy  of  a  new  passion.  The  strong  man 
is  not  to  be  destroyed,  but  dispossessed.  You  may  fill 
the  throne,  not  overthrow  it.  Whatever  be  the  suc 
cession  of  mental  revolutions,  a  despotism  will  prevail. 
Subdue  the  old  desire  by  the  expulsive  power  of  the 
new.  Such  is  the  course  of  Chalmers'  exposition.  Is 
it  his  own  1  Let  us  endeavour  to  follow  the  stream  to 
the  spring.  If  we  turn  to  the  second  Epistle  of  Pope, 
we  find  him  acknowledging  the  insufficiency  of  reason, 
which  only  removes  the'  "  weaker  passions  for  the 
strong,"  at  the  same  time  that  he  proclaims  its  power 
to  shape,  modify,  and  dispose  : — 


/9  /     /  t 

,  «. -.  SL    /->.       ._       Z^r. 

•~0* 


140  JOURNAL    OF 


See  anger,  zeal  and  fortitude  supply ; 
See  avarice,  prudence — sloth,  philosophy. 

We  hear  in  this  brief  aphorism  a  faint  sound  of 
Chalmers ;  there  is  something  here  of  the  expulsive 
power  of  a  new  affection.  But  the  stream  does  not 
lose  itself  at  Twickenham ;  it  winds  far  away  among 
the  hills,  into  those  sequestered  haunts  of  philosophy 
whither  Pope  was  probably  led  by  Bolingbroke.  In 
the  high  and  sunny  region  of  Bacon's  imagination  the 
fountain  rises :  "  It  is  of  especial  use  in  morality,  to 
set  affection  against  affection,  and  endeavour  to  master 
one  passion  by  another,  as  we  hunt  beast  with  beast." 
Here  we  reach  the  true  source  of  the  river,  which 
Chalmers,  enlarging  with  many  tributary  rivulets,  has 
rolled  through  a  rich  and  fertile  tract  of  argument, 
metaphor,  and  exhortation. 

The  secret  of  intellectual  excellence  lies  in  this 
painful  travelling  back  to  the  old  fountains.  Locke 
says,  that  the  water  running  from  the  spring  is  the 
property  of  every  man  ;  but  that  the  pitcher  belongs 
to  him  who  fills  it.  He  who  goes  to  the  original  au 
thor — the  well-head — draws  from  a  public  reservoir. 
The  student  should  despise  the  pitcher  as  much  as  he 
can.  In  theology,  above  all  branches  of  literature, 
new  streams,  that  sparkle  to  the  eye  and  refresh  the 
thirst,  commonly  flow  from  the  old  springs ;  one  short 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY. 


141 


caution  may  be  given  and  recollected ;  keep^  jmt  _of 
your  own  century.  Why  read  the  modern  treatise  or 
sermon,  when  you  have  Hooker  and  Donne  ??CThis  is 
deposing  the  monarch  to  set  up  the  chamberlain. 

Having  represented  Chalmers  as  the  copier,  I  will 
now  exhibit  him  as  the  copied.  His  lectures  on  the 
Christian  Revelation,  viewed  in  connexion  with  mod 
ern  astronomy,  contain  many  splendid,  and  some  sub 
lime  images  and  illustrations.  One  of  the  most  strik 
ing  has  been  happily  imitated  by  Mrs.  Hemans,  in  an 
early  poem  called  "  The  Sceptic." 


CHALMERS. 

The  leaf  quivers  on  the 
branch  that  supports  it,  and 
lies  at  the  mercy  of  the  slight 
est  accident  A  breath  of 
wind  tears  it  from  its  stem. 
In  a  moment  of  time  the  life, 
which  we  know  by  the  mi 
croscope  it  teems  with,  is  ex 
tinguished,  and  an  occurrence 
so  insignificant  in  the  eye  of 
man,  and  in  the  scale  of  his 
observation,  carries  in  it  to 
the  myriads  that  people  this 
little  leaf,  an  event  ns  terrible 
and  as  decisive  as  the  destruc 
tion  of  the  world. 


HEMANS. 

As  the  light  leaf,  whose  fall  to 

ruin  bears 
Some  trembling  insect's  little 

world  of  cares, 
Descends    in    silence,    while 

around  waves  on 
The    mighty    forest,   reckless 

what  is  gone : 
Such  is  man's  doom,  and  ere 

the  autumn's  flown — 
Start  not,  thou  trifler!   such 

may  be  thine  own. 


142  JOURNAL    OF 


JULY   12th. — Our  wood  is  very  gay  this  evening 
with  a  rustic  tea-party  : 

And  far  and  wide  over  the  vicar's  pale, 
Black  hoods  and  scarlet  crossing  hill  and  dale, 
All,  all  abroad,  and  music  in  the  gale. 

In  a  former  page  of  this  journal  I  proposed  a  his 
tory  of  gardens ;  and  the  writer,  when  he  is  found, 
may  add  a  supplementary  chapter  on  those  out-of-door 
entertainments,  which  are  so  pleasantly  associated 
with  trees,  flowers,  turf,  beauty,  and  singing.  Pliny 
and  Cowper  might  be  the  representatives  of  the  an 
cient  and  modern  fashions.  The  Italian  author  re 
joiced  in  every  element  of  the  elegant  and  rural.  His 
villa  was  sheltered  by  the  Apennines ;  a  green  plain 
stretched  before  it,  and  fruitful  vineyards  waved  be 
low.  Taste  embellished  what  nature  supplied.  In 
the  grounds  was  a  basin  of  exquisitely  polished  mar 
ble,  always  full  of  crystal  water,  but  never  overflow 
ing.  "  When  I  sup  here,"  Pliny  wrote  to  a  friend, 
"  this  basin  serves  me  for  a  table,  the  larger  sort  of 
dishes  being  placed  round  the  margin,  while  the 
smaller  swim  about  in  the  form  of  little  vessels  and 
water-fowl."  Some  vestige  of  this  liquid  furniture 
may  still  be  recognised.  When  Captain  Basil  Hall 
visited  the  baths  of  Leuk,  he  found  the  bathers  im 
mersed  nearly  up  to  the  throat,  with  tables  floating 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    TILE    COUNTRY.  143 


before  them,  on  which  the  ladies  put  their  work,  the 
gentlemen  their  books  or  newspapers,  and  the  children 
their  toys. 

Louis  XV.  invented  a  sinking  sideboard  at  Choisi. 
It  rose,  presented  its  treasure,  and  disappeared, — 

Lo !  here  attendant  on  the  shadowy  hour, 
The  closet  supper  served  by  hands  unseen. 

But  French  and  Latin  luxury  dwindles  away  be 
fore  the  magnificent  festivals  of  that  Castle,  which 
Thomson  built  in  his  golden  verse ;  where  no  bell 
rings  ;  no  knocker  resounds  ;  but  bright  doors  open  of 
their  own  accord  into  halls  heaped  with  the  softness 
and  splendour  of  Turkey  and  Persia : — 

Soft  quilts  on  quilts,  on  carpets,  carpets  spread, 
And  couches  stretched  around  in  seemly  band, 
And  endless  pillows  rise  to  prop  the  head, 
So  that  each  spacious  room  was  one  full  swelling  bed. 

And  everywhere  huge  cover'd  tables  stood, 
"With  wines  high-flavour'd,  and  rich  viands  crown'd; 
Whatever  sprightly  juice  or  tasteful  food 
On  the  green  bosom  of  this  earth  are  found, 
And  all  old  ocean  genders  iu  his  round ; 
Some  hand  unseen  these  silently  display'd, 
Even  undemanded  by  a  sign  or  sound ; 
You  need  but  wish,  and,  instantly  obey'd, 
Fair  rang'd  the  dishes  rose,  and  thick  the  glasses  playM. 


144  JOURNAL    OF 


So  much  for  the  picturesque  of  Pic-Nics.  Let  us 
turn  to  the  simpler  entertainment  of  country  life : — 

A  holy-day — the  frugal  banquet  spread 

On  the  fresh  herbage  near  the  fountain  head. 

With  quips  and  cranks — what  time  the  wood-lark  there 

Scatters  her  loose  notes  on  the  sultry  air. 

The  Roman  villa  fades  into  the  blue  Apennines,  and 
green  hedges  and  chestnut  trees  of  an  English  village 
grow  up.  Instead  of  Pliny  we  have  Cowper : — "  Yes 
terday  se'nnight  we  all  dined  together  in  the  Spinnie, 
a  most  delightful  retirement  belonging  to  Mr.  Throck- 
morton,  of  Weston.  Lady  Austin's  lackey,  and  a  lad 
that  waits  on  me  in  the  garden,  drove  a  wheelbarrow 
full  of  eatables  and  drinkables  to  the  scene  of  our 
fete  champetre.  A  board  laid  over  the  top  of  the 
wheelbarrow  served  us  for  a  table.  Our  dining-room 
was  a  root-house,  lined  with  moss  and  ivy.  At  six 
o'clock  the  servants,  who  had  dined  under  the  great 
elm,  upon  the  ground,  at  a  little  distance,  boiled  the 
kettle,  and  the  said  wheelbarrow  served  us  for  a  table." 

JULY  13th. — In  the  cumbersome  edition  of  the 
works  of  Parr,  among  many  dull  letters  of  dull  people 
is  one  of  interest  from  Bennet.  Bishop  of  Cloyne,  de 
scribing  the  episcopal  residence,  where  Berkeley,  the 
accomplished  friend  of  Pope,  formerly  dwelt.  A  few 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  145 

traces  of  him  are  preserved.  The  garden  abounded 
in  strawberries,  of  which  Berkeley  was  very  fond.  But 
its  most  singular  feature  was  a  winding  walk,  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  in  length,  enclosed  for  a  considera 
ble  part  of  the  distance  by  a  myrtle  hedge,  six  feet 
high,  planted  by  Berkeley  himself,  each  plant  having 
a  large  ball  of  tar  at  the  root. 

The  tar-epidemic  spread  far  and  wide.  Gray  tells 
Dr.  Wharton : — "  Mr.  Trollope  and  I  are  in  a  course 
of  tar-water ;  he  for  his  present,  I  for  my  future  dis 
tempers.  If  you  think  it  will  kill  me,  send  away  a 
man  and  horse  directly,  for  I  drink  like  a  fish."  But 
the  myrtle  hedge  of  Cloyne  was,  doubtless,  the  earliest 
instance  of  this  medical  treatment  applied  to  trees. 

Of  Berkeley  little  is  remembered.  Bennet  told 
Parr  that  "  he  made  no  improvement  to  the  house ; 
yet  the  part  of  it  he  inhabited  wanted  it  much ;  for  it 
is  now  only  good  enough  for  the  upper  servants.  My 
study  is  the  room  where  he  kept  his  apparatus  for  tar- 
water."  Indeed,  the  gifted  enthusiast  was  too  busy 
and  happy  to  be  anxious  about  refinements  of  accom 
modation.  With  a  wife  who  painted  gracefully,  sang 
like  a  nightingale,  and  appreciated  her  husband  ;  with 
children  who  resembled  their  parents  in  all  the  ac 
complishments  of  taste  and  the  graces  of  piety ;  and 
with  a  temper  himself  of  singular  sweetness  and  amia 
bility, — what  could  he  sigh  for  ?  The  dismallest  room 


146  JOURNAL    OF 


in  Cloyne  must  have  been  full  of  sunlight.  Never 
was  seen  a  domestic  interior  of  tenderer  beauty  and 
affection ;  and  in  the  bishop's  letters  we  catch  an  oc 
casional  glimpse  of  it — <:  The  more  we  have  of  good 
instruments  the  better ;  for  all  my  children,  not  ex 
cepting  my  little  daughter,  learn  to  play,  and  are  pre 
paring  to  fill  my  house  with  harmony  against  all 
events,  that^if we  have  worse  times  we  may  have  bet- 
._  ter  spirits."  Berkeley  was  the  Christian  gentleman 
of  his  age — the  Philip  Sidney  of  theology.  The 
same  fine  poetical  colour  enriched  the  complexion  of 
both ;  and  the  apostle  of  the  Bermudas,  like  the  hero 
of  Zutphen,  would  have  ploughed  up  life  and  re-sown 
it  for  Arcadia. 

JULY  14th. — Every  one  has  heard  of  Gray's  wish 
to  lie  undisturbed  on  a  sofa,  and  read  new  romances 
of  Marivaux  and  Crebillon.  I  was  surprised  to 
find  an  Archbishop  of  York  expressing  a  similar  par 
tiality.  Dr.  Herring  writes  to  W.  Duncombe.  No 
vember  3, 1738  :  "  I  cannot  help  mentioning  a  French 
book  to  you,  which  I  brought  in  the  coach  with  me — 
Le  Paysan  Parvenu.  It  is  a  book  of  gallantry,  but 
very  modest ;  the  things  which  entertained  me  were 
the  justice  of  some  of  the  characters  in  it,  and  the 
great  penetration  into  human  nature."  Mr.  Green,  of 
Ipswich,  speaks  of  the  same  novel  with  more  caution 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  147 

and  judgment.  He  admires  the  scene  painting,  but 
censures  the  moral  that  animates  it.  Herring,  and 
Stone,  Primate  of  Ireland,  were  the  only  persons  of 
rank  or  consideration  who  praised  Hume's  History  of 
England  on  its  first  appearance,  as  the  writer  tells  us 
with  pardonable  complacency. 

But  Marivaux  has  won  golden  opinions  in  later 
times.  When  a  living  scholar  entered  the  library  of 
Mr.  Wyndham,  soon  after  the  death  of  that  accom 
plished  person,  he  saw  upon  his  table  the  Marianne  of 
Marivaux.  There  is  another  story-teller  in  Latin, 
and  not  much  better  known,  who  delighted  the  most 
unhappy  of  our  poets.  Cowper  found  his  Marivaux 
in  Barclay,  whose  romance  of  Argenis  he  thought  the 
best  that  ever  was  written  ;  in  the  highest  degree  in 
teresting,  rich  in  incident,  full  of  surprises,  with  a 
narrative  free  from  intricacy,  and  a  style  not  unwor 
thy  of  Tacitus.  Barclay  was  the  son  of  a  Scottish 
lawyer  ;  he  went  to  Rome  in  the  beginning  of  the  1 7th 
century,  and  was  buried  near  Tasso — and,  I  believe, 
under  the  same  oak. 

JULY  1 5th. — Most  people  know  the  soothing  influ 
ence  of  a  walk — 

Beneath  th'  umbrageous  multitude  of  leaves, 
Where— 


148  JOURNAL    OF 


The  stealing  shower  is  scarce  to  patter  heard. 

It  was  the  only  rural  sensation  which  Johnson  ac 
knowledged.  But  there  is  another  woodland  pleasure 
he  would  have  been  insensible  to  ;  that  of  stooping  in 
calm  reverie  over  a  running  brook,  and  watching  the 
reflections  of  trees  in  the  water.  I  have  spent  the 
sunny  fragments  of  a  sweet  afternoon  in  this  visionary 
enjoyment,  not  without  endeavouring  to  moralize  what 
I  saw.  These  leaves  of  the  stream  seemed  to  be  im 
ages  of  slight  circumstances  in  life — little  things  that 
influence  our  hopes,  successes,  consolations,  and  pains. 

We  are  not  only  pleased,  but  turned  by  a  feather. 
Tin-  history  of  a  man  is  a  calendar  of  straws.  If  the 
nose  of  Cleopatra  had  been  shorter,  said  Pascal  in  his 
brilliant  way,  Antony  might  have  kept  the  world. 
The  Mohammedans  have  a  tradition,  that  when  their 
Prophet  concealed  himself  in  Mount  Shur,  his  pursu 
ers  were  baffled  by  a  spider's  web  over  the  mouth  of 
the  cave. 

The  shadows  of  leaves  in  water,  then,  are  to  me 
so  many  lessons  of  life.  I  call  to  mind  Demosthenes, 
rushing  from  the  Athenian  assembly,  burning  with 
shame,  and  in  the  moment  of  degradation  encountered 
by  Satyrus.  It  was  the  apparition  of  his  good  spirit, 
and  changed  his  fortune.  The  hisses  of  his  country 
men  melted  into  distance.  He  learns  the  art  of  Elo- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  149 

cution  ;  and,  when  he  next  ascended  the  lema.^  his  lip 
was  roughened  by  no  grit  of  the  pebble.  Again : 
Socrates,  meeting  Xcnophon  in  a  narrow  gateway, 
stopped  him,  by  extending  his  stick  across  the  path, 
and  inquiring,  "  How  a  man  might  attain  to  virtue 
and  honour  ?"  Xenophon  could  not  answer ;  and  the 
philosopher,  bidding  him  follow,  became  thenceforward 
his  master  in  Ethics.  These  incidents  were  shadows 
of  leaves  on  the  stream ;  but  they  conducted  Demos 
thenes  into  the  temple  of  eloquence,  and  placed  Xen 
ophon  by  the  side  of  Livy. 

We  have  pleasing  examples  nearer  home.  Evelyn, 
sauntering  along  a  meadow  near  Says  Court,  loitered 
to  look  in  at  the  window  of  a  lonely  thatched  house, 
where  a  young  man  was  carving  a  cartoon  of  Tintoret. 
He  requested  permission  to  enter,  and  soon  recom 
mended  the  artist  to  Charles  II.  From  that  day,  the 
name  of  Gibbins  belonged  to  his  country.  G-ibbon, 
among  the  ruins  of  Roman  grandeur,  conceives  his 
prose  epic ;  Thorwaldsen  sees  a  boy  sitting  on  the 
steps  of  a  house,  and  goes  home  to  model  Mercury. 
Opie  bends  over  the  shoulder  of  a  companion  drawing 
a  butterfly,  and  rises  up  a  painter ;  Giotto  sketches  a 
sheep  on  a  stone,  which  attracts  the  notice  of  Cimabue, 
passing  by  that  way ;  and  the  rude  shepherd-boy  is 
immortalized  by  Dante.  Milton  retires  to  Chalfont ; 
and  that  refuge  from  the  plague  gives  to  us  Paradise 


150  JOURNAL    OF 


Regained.  Lady  Austin  points  to  a  Sofa  ;  and  Cow- 
per  creates  th,e  Task.  A  dispute  about  a  music-desk 
awakens  the  humour  of  the  Lutrin ;  and  an  apothe 
cary's  quarrel  produces  the  Dispensary.  The  acci 
dental  playing  of  a  Welsh  harper  at  Cambridge, 
inspired  Gray  with  the  conclusion  of  The  '  Bard,' 
which  had  been  lying — a  noble  fragment — for  a  long 
time  in  his  desk. 

Slight  circumstances  are  the  texts  of  science. 
Pascal  heard  a  common  dinner-plate  ring,  and  wrote  a 
tract  upon  sound.  While  Galileo  studied  medicine  in 
the  University  of  Pisa,  the  regular  oscillation  of  a 
lamp  suspended  from  the  roof  of  the  cathedral  at 
tracted  his  observation,  and  led  him  to  consider  the 
vibrations  of  pendulums.  Kepler  determined  to  fill 
his  cellars  from  the  Austrian  vineyards  ;  but,  dispu 
ting  the  accuracy  of  the  seller's  measurement,  he 
worked  out  one  of  the  "  earliest  specimens  of  what  is 
now  called  the  modern  analysis."  Cuvier  dissects  a 
cuttle-fish ;  and  the  mystery  of  the  whole  animal 
kingdom  unfolds  itself  before  him.  A  sheet  of  paper 
sent  from  the  press,  with  the  letters  accidentally 
raised,  suggests  the  embossed  alphabet  for  the  blind  : 
and  a  physician,  lying  awake  and  listening  to  the 
beating  qf  his  heart,  contributes  the  most  learned 
book  upon  the  diseases  .of  that  organ. 
\Thus,  in  life  "and  science,  the  strange  intricacies 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  151 

and  unions  of  things  small  and  splendid  are  clearly 
discerned.  Causes  and  effects  wind  into  each  other. 
"  By  this  most  astonishing  connexion  —  these  recipro 
cal  correspondences  and  mutual  relations  —  everything 
which  we  see  in  the  course  of  nature  is  actually 
brought  about  ;  and  things,  seemingly  the  most  insig 
nificant  imaginable,  are  perpetually  observed  to  be 
necessary  conditions  to  other  things  of  the  greatest 
importance."  History  is  a  commentary  on  the  wisdom 
of  Butler.  A  proclamation  furls  the  sails  of  a  ship  ; 
and  Cromwell,  instead  of  plying  his  axe  in  a  forest- 
clearing  of  America,  blasphemes  Godyand  beheads 
his  sovereign  at  home.  Bruce  raises  his  eyes  to  the 
ceiling,  where  a  spider  was  struggling  to  fix  a  line  for 
his  web  ;  and  instead  of  a  crusader,  we  have  the  hero 
of  Bannockburn. 

No  fountain  of  beauty  is  unshadowed  by  leaves. 
Slight  circumstances  in  books,  pictures,  or  statues, 
often  make  the  strongest  impression  upon  the  memory. 
I  recollect  an  instance  in  the  Faery  Queen  :  —  Una, 
\vaudering  in  search  of  the  Ked-Cross  Knight,  after 
traversing  uninhabited  wildernesses,  discovers  a  path 
way  of  beaten  grass  — 

In  which  the  track  of  people's  footing  was. 
Again  in  the  Italy  of  Mr.  Rogers  :  —  Twilight  began 


s  , 


152  JOURNAL    OF 


to  close  round  the  poet  after  a  day  at  Pompeii ;  and 
as  he  stood  by  the  house  of  Pansa, 

—  a  ray, 

Bright  and  yet  brighter,  on  the  pavement  glanc'd, 
And  on  the  wheel-track  worn  for  centuries, 
And  on  the  stepping-stone  from  side  to  side, 
O'er  which  the  maidens  with  their  water-urns 
Were  wont  to  trip  so  lightly ;  foil  and  clear 
The  moon  was  rising,  and  at  once  revealed 
The  name  of  every  dweller  and  his  craft. 

The  grass,  worn  by  footsteps,  gives  life  and  beauty 
to  the  desert ;  and  the  old  wheel-track,  seen  in  the 
moonlight,  carries  us  into  the  city  of  the  dead,  as  it 
exulted  the  morning  of  its  strength.  In  the  picture, 
as  in  the  poem,  slight  circumstances  allure  and  fasci 
nate  the  eye.  A  book  drawn  by  Bassano  deceived 
one  of  the  Carracci,  who  stretched  out  his  hand  to 
take  it.  In  a  Correggio  at  Florence,  the  Virgin  is  on 
her  knees,  desiring,  yet  fearing  to  rise,  the  Divine 
Infant  having  fallen  asleep  on  the  corner  of  her 
mantle,  which  had  dropped  to  the  ground.  A  land 
scape  of  Ruysdael  frequently  seems  to  be  gathered 
into  one  ivy-grown  pollard  that  moulders  away  through 
the  canvas.  Pepys  mentions  a  flower-pot,  by  Simon 
Varelst,  to  which  the  dew-drops  appeared  to  hang,  so 
that  he  put  his  finger  to  them  again  and  again,  before 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  153 

he  could  be  assured  of  the  delusion  of  his  eyes.  The 
book  that  bewildered  the  artist,  the  child  slumbering 
on  the  edge  of  the  mantle,  the  broken  trunk  of  the 
oak,  and  the  sparkling  drops  on  the  flower,  are  so 
many  shadows  of  leaves — slight  circumstances,  that 
charm  the  taste  of  the  beholder. 

Little  things  in  art  and  literature  displease  as 
much  as  they  delight  us.  In  the  splendid  description 
of  the  death  of  Laocoon,  P.  Knight  thinks  that  Vir 
gil  misunderstood  and  debased  the  Greek  sculptor's 
conception,  by  making  the  hero  cry  out  under  the 
grasp  of  the  serpent.  In  the  marble,  the  breast  of 
Laocoon  is  expanded,  and  the  throat  is  contracted,  to 
show  that  the  agonies  which  convulsed  his  frame  were 
borne  in  silence.  Bernini  committed  with  his  chisel 
the  error  of  Virgil's  pen.  He  gave  a  mean  expres 
sion  to  the  statue  of  David,  by  showing  him  in  the 
act  of  biting  his  under  lip  when  he  hurled  the  stone 
from  the  sling.  Nor  should  we  underrate  such  occa 
sions  of  critical  offence :  whatever  breaks  the  unity  of 
interest  in  a  book,  statue,  or  picture,  must  detract  by 
mutilation.  In  the  great  Vandyck,  at  Wilton,  the 
escutcheon  of  the  Pembroke  family  stares  out  from 
the  corner.  Cuyp,  in  a  different  way,  weakened  some 
of  his  finest  landscapes  by  the  unsoftened  crimson  of 
the  central  figure ;  whereas  Titian,  more  exquisitely 
skilful,  melted  his  warm  colours  into  the  colder  parts 

7* 


154  JOURNAL    OF 


of  the  composition.  With  a  red  scarf,  or  a  little  blue 
drapery,  he  subdued  every  feature,  attitude,  and  cos 
tume,  into  harmony  and  grace. 

Slight  circumstances  have  a  moral  interest,  as  deep 
as  it  is  varied.  Retracing  the  current  of  old  age  to 
its  early  springs  in  childhood  and  youth,  the  memory 
still  lingers  on  the  shadows  of  the  leaves.  Warren 
Hastings,  encircled  by  Indian  splendour,  and  seeming 
to  be  absorbed  in  the  cares  of  government,  had  always 
before  his  eyes  a  little  wood  at  Daylesford,  in  Wor 
cestershire,  where  he  was  born.  It  is  not  difficult  to 
believe  that  Pope  felt  less  pride  in  the  subscription 
to  his  Homer,  than  in  the  one  treasured  shilling  that 
Dryden  gave  to  him,  when  a  boy,  for  a  translation 
from  Ovid. 

This  sylvan  brook  suggests  another  thought.  A 
breath  of  wind,  rustling  the  pendulous  boughs,  dis 
perses  all  the  reflections  of  leaves.  Ruffle  the  surface, 
and  the  image  flies.  It  is  a  subject  of  hourly  experi 
ence,  that  the  bond  of  years  is  snapped  in  a  moment. 
Baretti  was  always  welcomed  and  praised  by  John 
son  ;  he  was  the  oldest  friend  he  had  in  the  world. 
The  sharp  edge  of  a  witty  tongue  cut  down  this 
growth  of  time  in  ten  minutes.  Baretti,  calling  on 
the  moralist,  was  rallied  on  the  superior  skill  of  Omai, 
the  Otaheitan,  who  had  conquered  him  at  chess.  In 
a  storm  of  indignation,  snatching  up  his  hat  and  stick, 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  155 

he  rushed  from  the  room,  and  never  visited  his  friend 
any  more.  The  stream  grew  tranquil,  but  the  bough 
was  broken. 

It  might  be  profitable  to  inquire  into  the  retard 
ing  or  stimulating  influence  of  insignificant  sayings, 
praise,  or  blame,  upon  men  in  pursuit  of  knowledge 
and  reputation.  The  reproof  of  a  Wesleyan  minister,  -*• 
scrawled  on  a  window,  caused  Adam  Clarke  to  aban 
don  his  classical  studies.  During  four  years  he  never 
opened  a  book  of  learning ;  even  his  Greek  Testa 
ment  was  closed.  Burke,  rising  to  address  the  House 
with  a  roll  of  paper  in  his  hand,  was  interrupted  by  a 
member,  who  deprecated  the  infliction  of  the  MS.  on  ) 
his  hearers.  The  orator,  in  shame  and  disgust,  quit 
ted  his  seat.  Here  are  two  leaves  in  the  water. 
The  scholar  lost  a  precious  season  of  improvement 
through  the  malice  of  a  bigot ;  and  the  statesman, 
who  had  been  deaf  to  a  lion,  was  disconcerted  by  a  ' 
bray. 

A  beam  of  the  setting  sun  has  just  darted  into 
the  middle  of  the  stream.  The  shadow  of  the  leaf 
brightens,  and  an  aureate  tinge  burnishes  the  water. 
I  draw  comfort  and  light  from  the  appearance.  Only 
a  little  ray  has  fallen  on  the  brook,  but  it  alters  its 
colour.  Experience  points  to  the  same  illumination 
of  the  stream  of  life.  Slight  circumstances  are  its 
sunbeams.  The  seven  Bishops,  martyrs  for  con- 


156  JOURNAL    OP 


science'  sake,  were  committed  to  the  Tower  on  a  Fri 
day.  They  reached  the  prison  in  the  evening,  just  as 
Divine  service  was  beginning ;  and  immediately  has 
tening  to  the  chapel,  were  cheered  by  the  words  of 
St.  Paul  in  the  second  lesson :  "  In  all  things  approv 
ing  ourselves  as  the  ministers  of  God,  in  much  pa 
tience,  in  afflictions,  in  distresses,  in  stripes,  in  impri 
sonments."  What  blessings  were  breathed  in  every 
syllable !  Or  take  a  different  example.  When  the 
packet-ship,  Lady  Hobart,  was  driving  before  the  hur 
ricane,  a  white  bird  suddenly  descended  on  the  mast. 
The  hearts  of  the  crew  were  lightened ;  hope  dawned. 
Such  consolation  may  be  always  mine.  One  bright, 
holy,  faithful  thought  is  my  dove  upon  the  mast. 
However  sadly  tossing  over  the  waves  of  this  trouble 
some  world,  that  vanishing  bird  of  Paradise  revives 
and  strengthens  me.  It  tells  me  that  the  storm  will 
soon  be  over  and  gone,  and  the  green  land,  with  the 
time  of  the  singing  of  birds,  be  come  \^J 

Men  wear  out  their  days  and  strength  in  seeking 
after  happiness,  but  they  have  only  to  stoop  and 
gather  it  up,  or  look  inward  and  find  it.  I  am  struck 
by  the  Spanish  discovery  of  the  mines  of  Potosi.  An 
Indian,  pursuing  deer,  to  save  himself  from  slipping 
over  a  rock,  seized  a  bush  with  his  hand  ;  the  violence 
of  the  wrench  loosened  the  earth  round  the  root,  and 
a  small  piece  of  silver  attracted  his  eye.  He  carried 


sr.MMKR    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  157 

it  home  and  returned  for  more.  A  torn-up  shrub  dis 
closes  a  silver  mine.  In  the  waste  places  of  our  mor 
tality,  there  is  not  a  common  flower  which  has  not 
some  precious  ore  at  its  root.  We  catch  at  the  bro 
ken  reed,  and  the  treasure  appears. 

There  is  an  Indian  superstition  illustrating  very 
sweetly  the  wide-.spreadiug  fruitfulness  of  blessing 
and  contentment.  A  plant  grows  in  the  jungle  which 
emits  a  clear  flame  in  the  night.  "  To  wanderers  in 
the  Himalaya  mountains,  it  serves  for  a  lamp,  burning 
without  oil."  In  a  spiritual  sense  this  luminous  grass 
sheds  green  over  our  English  villages,  and  skirts  the 
flinty  highways  of  swarming  cities,  if  only  it  be 
sought  after  with  loving  and  trustful  eyes.  Every 
where  the  seed  of  hope  and  joy  has  been  scattered  by 
the  Great  Husbandman.  Its  blade  shines  in  the 
darkest  weather.  Alas  !  that  men  should  trample  it 
under  foot ! — despising  the  lustre  and  guidance  of 
little  mercies,  in  their  impatient  pride  to  reach  a 
broader  and  more  magnificent  thoroughfare  ! 

Perhaps  the  familiar  but  touching  anecdote  of 
Mungo  Park  may  give  emphasis  to  the  allegory. 
Stripped  and  plundered  of  his  clothes  in  Africa,  he 
sat  down  in  despair.  The  nearest  European  settle 
ment  was  five  hundred  miles  off.  What  could  he  do? 
In  the  agony  of  his  grief  and  desolation,  he  happened 
to  look  upon  a  small  moss  in  flower.  It  was  not 


158  JOURNAL    OF 

larger  than  the  top  of  one  of  his  fingers — "  Can  that 
Being,"  he  thought,  "who  planted,  watered,  and 
brought  to  perfection,  in  this  obscure  part  of  the 
world,  a  thing  which  appears  of  so  small  importance, 
look  with  unconcern  upon  the  situation  and  sufferings 
of  creatures  formed  after  his  own  image."  The 
meditation  restored  his  courage  ;  he  went  on  his  way 
comforted  and  rejoicing,  and  soon  arrived  at  a  small 
village.  The  moss  in  flower  was  the  shadow  of  a  leaf 
upon  the  stream. 

I  learn  yet  another  lesson  from  these  branches, 
which  already  be^in  to  grow  dim  in  the  mirror.  The 
road  to  home-happiness  lies  over  small  stepping- 
stones.  Slight  circumstances  are  the  stumbling  blocks 
of  families.  The  prick  of  a  pin,  says  a  proverb  col 
lected  by  Fuller,  is  enough  to  make  an  empire  in 
sipid.  The  tenderer  the  feelings,  the  painfuller  is 
the  wound.  An  unkind  word  checks  and  withers  the 
blossom  of  the  dearest  love,  as  the  most  delicate  rings 
of  the  vine  are  troubled  by  the  faintest  breeze.  The 
misery  of  a  life  is  born  of  a  chance  observation.  If 
the  true  history  of  quarrels,  public  and  private,  were 
honestly  written,  it  would  be  silenced  with  an  uproar 
of  derision.  The  retainers  of  a  Norman  monastery 
fought  and  hated  one  another,  during  a  hundred  and 
forty  years,  for  the  right  of  hunting  rabbits. 
^  There  is  a  Tree,  of  which  every  leaf  casts  a  heal- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  159 

ing  shadow  ;  I  shall  not  have  lost  this  balmy  summer 
evening,  if  the  mossy  bridge,  and  gilded  brook,  and 
playful  foliage  remind  me  of  it.  Slight  circum 
stances  compose  the  life  of  the  Christian.  His  bless 
ings,  like  his  wishes,  are  on  the  ground.  He  stoops 
to  pick  them. 

I  am  returning  to  my  loneliness  happier  than  I 
left  it.  The  future  brightens.  I  feel  that  he  can 
bear  all  things,  who  hopes  all  things.  Hot  sands  are 
for  the  feet,  and  a  stone  for  the  head  ;  but  the  vision 
of  angels  shines  over  it.  Even  in  dark  times  the 
beauty  of  Hope  was  felt.  The  antique  finger  drew 
her  in  the  attitude  of  motion  ;  her  garments  drawn 
aside.  She  was  always  hastening  forward  !  Sweet 
traveller  and  guide  to  heaven  !  take  the  lily  of  Eden 
in  thy  hand,  and  lead  me  whithersoever  thou  goest ! 

JULY  16th. — Dryden  may  be  backed  with  Pope 
against  any  un-rhyming  author  in  the  language.  His 
prose  would  make  a  reputation,  with  the  poetry  left 
out.  After  all,  the  admiration  of  Fox  is  not  so  un 
accountable.  What  flexibility  !  what  vigour !  what 
harmony  !  what  fulness  !  His  language  is  the  organ, 
with  nearly  all  the  stops.  I  have  been  reading,  for 
the  twentieth  time,  his  parallel  between  poetry  and 
painting.  In  reference  to  the  scene  in  the  .ZEncid, 
where  the  storm  drives  ^Eneas  and  Dido  into  the 


160  JOURNAL    OF 


cavern,  Dryden  makes  this  remark :; — "  I  suppose  that 
a  painter  would  not  be  much  commended  who  should 
pick  out  this  cavern  from  the  whole  JEneis.  when  he 
had  better  leave  them  in  their  obscurity  than  let  in  a 
flash  of  lightning  to  clear  the  natural  darkness  of  the 
place,  by  which  he  must  discover  himself  as  much  as 
them." 

An  illustrious  contemporary  of  Dryden  —  even 
Poussin — has  selected  this  episode,  and  managed  it 
with  admirable  taste.  The  composition  of  the  picture 
is  full  of  grandeur ;  although  the  dark  ground  on 
which  Poussin  painted  has  communicated  an  excessive 
blackness  to  the  colouring.  But  the  effect  is  surpris 
ing.  The  sudden  gloom  is  relieved  by  light  in  the 
distant  horizon,  from  which  the  tempest  rushes  before 
the  wind.  A  white  horse,  a  purple  cloth  upon  it,  is 
held  by  a  Cupid  with  coloured  wings,  while  the  sun 
streams  down  from  the  clearing  sky.  Unfortunately, 
"  the  horse  is  coarse  and  Flemish.  Virgil  mentions  two 
horses — Dido's,  and  that  on  which  the  young  Ascanius 
exults  along  the  valley.  Poussin  gives  only  the  horse 
of  the  Carthaginian  queen,  and  leaves  out  the  orna 
ments  : 

— Ostroque  insignis  et  auro 
Stat  eonipee — 

The  "  fulsere  ignes,"  he  translates  very  prettily  into 
fluttering  Loves. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  161 

JULY  17th. — Reminded  this  evening  of  that  beau 
tiful  expression  of  Milton,  about  pluming  the  wings  of 
thought,  after  being  ruffled  in  the  crowd.  The  mind 
revives  in  solitude.  Fresh  airs  blow  down  upon  if 
from_jhejgreen_hills  and  gardens  of  fancy.  .  It  gets  its 
health  and  colour  again.  I  would  not  quite  recom 
mend  the  advice  of  Cowley  to  be  followed,  for  he  con 
sidered  that  man  the  happiest,  who  had  not  only 
quitted  the  metropolis,  but  abstained  from  visiting  the 
next  market- town  of  his  county.  We  owe  a  debt  to 
our  brethren ;  and,  however  fierce  the  beasts  may  be 
in  the  wilderness,  we  are  not  to  surround  ourselves 
with  a  wall  of  fire,  and  go  to  sleep  in  the  centre. 
However,  let  me  not  be  unjust  to  this  most  delightful 
writer.  He  knew  how  few  people  are  fit  for  the  soli 
tariness  *he  loved.  In  his  essay  on  obscurity  he 
says : — "  They  must  have  enough  knowledge  of  the 
world  to  see  the  vanity  of  it,  and  enough  virtue  to 
despise  its  vanity ;  if  the  mind  be  possest  with  any 
passions,  a  man  had  better  be  in  a  fair,  than  in  a  wood 
alone.  They  may,  like  petty  thieves,  cheat  us,  per 
haps,  and  pick  our  pockets  in  the  midst  of  company ; 
but,  like  robbers,  they  use  to  strip,  and  bind,  and 
murder  us,  when  they  catch  us  alone.  This  is  but  to 
retreat  from  men,  and  fall  into  the  hands  of  devils." 

And  if  sequesterment  be  necessary  for  our  spir 
itual,  it  is  equally  needed  by  our  intellectual  nature. 


162  JOURNAL    OF 


A  bird  is  shut  up  and  darkened  before  it  learns  a 
tune;  trees  and  sun  draw  off  its  attention.  The 
music  of  fancy  is  acquired  in  a  similar  manner.  But 
the  loneliness  must  be  fed  ;  and  the  kind  of  nourish 
ment  is  soon  discovered.  The  purple  feather  of  the 
bird  tells  of  the  seed.  So  it  is  in  literature.  The 
violets  of  Colonos  peep  out  under  the  hedges  of 
Milton's  Eden. 

July  18th. — Most  poetical  readers  know  by  heart 
Mr.  Wordsworth's  charming  portraiture  of  womanly 
sweetness,  which  is  able  to  cheer  and  bless  us  in  all 
weathers  of  life.  He  has  written  nothing  tenderer  or 
truer — 

1   I  saw  her,  upon  nearer  view, 
A  spirit,  yet  a  woman  too. 
Her  household  motion3  light  and  free, 
And  steps  of  virgin  liberty ; 
A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet 
A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food, 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 
Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles. 

The  thought  has  been  often  uttered.  First  comes 
our  excellent  friend  Goldsmith,  introducing  Dr.  Prim 
rose  :  "  I  had  scarcely  taken  orders  a  year,  before  I 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  163 

began  to  think  seriously  of  matrimony,  and  chose  my 
wife  as  she  did  her  wedding-gown,  not  for  a  fine  glossy 
surface,  but  for  such  qualities  as  would  wear  well." 
Next  appears  Shenston,e,  in  his  Progress  of  Taste : — 

For  bumble  ease,  ye  powers,  I  pray, 
That  plain  warm  suit  for  every  day! 
And  pleasure  and  brocade  bestow, 
To  flaunt  it  once  a  month  or  so. 
The  first  for  constant  wear  we  want ; 
The  first,  ye  powers !  for  ever  grant. 
But  constant  wear  the  last  bespatters. 
And  turns  the  tissue  into  tatters. 

In  Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  (Act  ii.  sc.  5,)  Pedro 
asks  Beatrice,  "  Will  you  have  me,  lady  ?  "  and  she 
answers,  "  No,  my  lord,  unless  I  might  have  another 
for  working  days.  Your  Grace  is  too  costly  to  wear 
every  day."  To  Mr.  Wordsworth  belongs  the  praise 
of  bringing  out  the  full  charm  of  the  sentiment. 

JULY  19th. — I  am  almost  weary  of  watching 
The  minute  drops  from  off  the  eaves. 

A  rainy  day  is  a  winter  luxury.  A  cold,  wet,  hazy, 
blowing  night  in  December,  gates  swinging,  trees 
crashing,  storm  howling — that  is  enjoyable — it  is  the 
weather  to  finish  Christabel  in.  How  full  of  heat. 


164  JOURNAL    OF 


light,  and  comfort  everything  is  within  doors  !  The 
flickering  fire,  beaten  into  a  blaze,  the  bubbling  urn, 
the  rustled  book,  and  all  the  scenery  of  a  thoughtful 
fireside,  rise  to  the  memory.  Cowper  describes  the 
hour  he  delighted  to  lose  in  this  waking  dream,  when 
he  had  drawn  the  chair  up  to  the  fender,  and  fastened 
the  shutter,  that  still  kept  rattling.  See  him  gazing 
earnestly  into  the  sleepy  fire  ! — what  is  he  looking  at  ? 
In  the  parlour  twilight,  the  history  of  his  boyhood 
and  youth  lives  again,  with  the  pleasant  garden  of  the 
parsonage  he  was  born  in  ;  the  path  the  gardener, 
Robin,  drew  him  along  to  school ;  and  his  mother,  in 
that  vesture  of  tissued  flowers  which  he  used  to  prick 
into  paper  with  a  pin.  Sometimes  his  gayer  heart 
disported  itself  in  other  dreams : — 

Me  oft  has  fancy,  ludicrous  and  wild, 

Soothed  with  a  waking  dream  of  houses,  towers, 

Trees,  churches,  and  strange  visages,  express'd 

In  the  red  cinders,  while  with  poring  eye 

I  gazed,  myself  creating  what  I  saw. 

Not  less  amused  have  I,  quiescent,  watch'd 

The  sooty  films  that  play  upon  the  bars 

Pendulous,  and  foreboding  in  the  view 

Of  superstition,  prophesying  still, 

Though  still  deceived,  some  stranger's  near  approach. 

I  should  like  to  see  a  catalogue  of  Hearth  Liter 
ature,  if  the  title  may  be  compounded. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  165 

Bright  winter  fires,  that  summer's  part  supply, 

is  the  pleasing  line  of  Cowley.  That  parlour  twilight 
is  instead  of  the  sun  playing  on  leaves  and  grass. 
What  visions  have  been  created,  books  planned,  pic 
tures  designed,  cathedrals  built,  and  countries  dis 
covered  over  dying  embers  !  Thoughts  of  eloquence 
and  devotion,  at  this  hour  moving  and  shining  along 
the  world,  were  born  in  that  glimmer.  Ridley,  watch 
ing  out  the  last  red  coal  in  his  cell,  may  have  seen 
the  church  rising  in  her  stateliness  and  purity  ; 
Raleigh  have  called  up  cities  of  gold,  and  forests  of 
fruit-bearing  trees ;  and  Milton,  in  the  chimney-cor 
ner  at  Horton,  have  sketched  the  dim  outline  of 
Comus.  Therefore  a  wet  winter  evening  is  a  very 
agreeable  characteristic  of  the  season.  The  wood- 
ashes  are  aids  to  reflection.  But  a  rainy  afternoon  in 
summer  is  altogether  different :  it  is  the  Faery's  dan 
cing-hall,  with  the  lights  extinguished.  A  paper 
network  flutters  where  the  fire  ought  to  be ;  a  red 
cinder  for  the  parish-clerk  to  disappear  in  would  be 
worth  its  weight  in  silver.  But  the  eye  wanders  up 
and  down,  and  finds  nothing  to  rest  upon ;  the  room 
itself  wears  a  heavy,  disconsolate  expression ;  the 
table  and  chairs  are  miserable ;  the  large  fly  mopes 
on  the  damp  glass ;  the  flowers  in  the  window  look 
like  mourners,  just  returned  wet  through  from  the 


166  JOURNAL    OF 


funeral  of  Flora.     Bamfylde  has  painted  the  sorrows 
of  the  season : 

—  Mute  is  the  mournful  plain ; 
Silent  the  swallow  sits  beneath  the  thatch, 
'      And  vacant  hind  hangs  pensive  o'er  his  hatch, 
Counting  the  frequent  drop  from  reeded  eaves. 

JULY  20th. — Thanks  to  the  Germans,  we  are  be 
ginning  to  be  on  visiting  terms  with  the  old  Greek 
families.  A  scholar  is  now  able  to  call  on  Pericles, 
and  even  to  form  a  fair  estimate  of  the  domestic  ar 
rangements  of  the  middle  classes.  The  drawing-room 
and  kitchen  are  being  restored.  Becker  has  done 
much  for  this  branch  of  study.  He  sketches  an  Athe 
nian  lodging-house  with  something  of  Flemish  mi 
nuteness.  A  lasting  value  is  given  to  his  descriptions 
by  the  authority  of  the  original  authors,  whose  words 
he  quotes.  This  is  a  feature  of  criticism  not  to  be 
despised.  He  is  a  naturalist,  looking  off  his  lecture 
to  point  to  the  real  specimens  in  glass  cases. 

People  are  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Greek  cities 
had  no  inns.  In  early  times — the  heroic  ages — pri 
vate  hospitality  entertained  the  wayfarer  ;  but,  as  in 
tercourse  increased,  and  strangers  crowded  to  Athens 
and  Corinth,  ampler  accommodation  was  required. 
The  great  festivals  were  the  race-weeks  of  our  county 
towns.  We  learn  from  a  speech  of  ^Eschines,  that  the 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  107 

Athenian  ambassadors  to  Philip  took  up  their  abode 
at  an  hotel ;  just  as  the  Papal  Nuncio  might  have  his 
apartments  at  Mivart's. 

We  arc  reminded  of  the  antiquity  of  all  novelties, 
in  the  rage  for  autographs  among  Greek  collectors. 
The  bibliomaniac  of  Lucian  pleased  himself  with 
thinking  that  he  possessed  the  harangues  of  Demos 
thenes,  and  the  history  of  Thucydides,  in  the  hand 
writing  of  the  respective  authors.  Thus  the  Rox 
burgh  Club  had  its  type  in  a  departed  race  ;  and  Will 
Wimble  reappears  in  Athens  with  the  same  accumu 
lating  taste  that  excited  the  mirth  of  Sir  Roger  de 
Coverley.  The  shop  and  the  counter  have  undergone 
slight  changes.  At  Pompeii  is,  or  was  not  long  ago, 
the  outline  of  a  head  with  a  pen  stuck  behind  the  ear, 
as  one  may  see  it  every  day  in  Reading.  The  Greek 
banker  was  a  person  of  importance,  and  conducted  his 
business  on  the  most  approved  principle.  He  allowed 
a  nominal  interest  on  deposits,  which  he  lent  at  a 
larger  rate, — sometimes  so  high  as  thirty-six  per  cent. 
The  circular  note  of  Coutts  had  its  original  in  the 
symbolon,  or  mark,  that  authenticated  the  letter  of 
credit.  The  cheque  was  unknown ;  but  the  leather 
taken  of  Carthage  promised  the  future  food  of  specu 
lation  and  commerce ; 

Blest  paper  credit !  last  and  best  supply, 
^  That  lends  corruption  lighter  wings  to  fly. 


168  JOURNAL    OF 


In-door  life  was  extremely  curious.  An  Oxford  fel 
low,  arriving  on  a  short  visit  to  Alcibiades,  would 
have  been  surprised  at  his  bed-room.  The  four-post 
sinks  into  contempt.  The  Athenian  bedstead  was 
sometimes  made  of  precious  wood,  with  ivory  feet. 
The  mattras  was  stuffed  with  wool,  and  covered  with 
linen  or  leathern  sheets.  The  white  pillow-case  was 
not  yet ;  but  the  coverlets  were  splendid — sometimes 
composed  of  variegated  feathers,  perhaps  like  the 
Mexican  cloaks.  The  table  was  usually  round,  ve 
neered  with  maple,  and  supported  by  feet  of  bronze. 
An  elegant  tripod  contained  the  fire  which  heated  the 
chamber  in  cold  weather. 

But  the  dinner-hour  would  have  drawn  forth  all 
the  wonder  of  the  visitor.  In  the  most  fashionable 
establishment  there  was  no  table-cloth.  A  towel  was 
handed  round  at  the  conclusion  of  the  repast,  but 
crumb  of  bread  fulfilled  the  duty  of  the  serviette.  A 
particular  kind  of  dough  was  set  apart  for  the  pur 
pose.  The  custom,  oddly  enough,  seems  to  corres 
pond  with  one  in  Abyssinia,  minutely  recorded  by 
Bruce,  and  confirmed  by  later  travellers.  In  the  ab 
sence  of  knives  and  forks,  spoons  of  gold  were  dis 
tributed  among  the  guests.  The  bread  was  handed 
in  small  baskets,  woven  of  slips  of  ivory.  The  wine 
was  cooled  by  lumps  of  snow,  and  the  first  toast  was, 
To  the  Good  Genius  ! 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  169 

Becker  vindicates  the  medical  profession  in  Greece 
from  the  ridicule  which  has  often  been  cast  on  it. 
The  Romans,  prejudiced  against  physicians,  contented 
themselves  with  the  healing  wisdom  of  a  domestic 
slave;  or,  like  Cato,  entrusted  their  health  to  the 
guardianship  of  a  Latin  Buchan.  The  Athenian, 
more  nervous,  was  always  calling  in  the  Doctor.  A 
sort  of  diploma,  in  the  form  of  a  permission  from  the 
state,  together  with  a  certificate  of  attendance  on 
medical  lectures,  was  necessary  to  admit  a  candidate 
into  practice.  There  were  also  physicians  paid  by 
the  government,  and  answering  in  some  measure  to 
our  hospital  or  dispensary  doctors.  The  Athenian 
physician  was  the  general  practitioner  of  modern 
times,  and  compounded  his  own  medicines.  Some 
patients  came  to  the  surgery ;  others  he  attended  at 
their  own  homes.  His  manners  and  speech  appear  to 
have  been  sufficiently  rough  and  unflattering.  The 
saying  of  a  consulting-surgeon  in  remote  years — 
"  Patroclus  is  dead,  who  was  a  much  better  man  than 
you" — reads  like  an  anticipatory  reminiscence  of  Mr. 
Abernethy.  But  medical  science  was  of  the  lowest 
order.  It  is  a  question  whether  dissection  was  per 
mitted.  Becker  alludes  to  a  passage  in  Plutarch, 
describing  an  operation  upon  the  larynx  of  a  man 
who  had  swallowed  a  fish-bone ;  and  he  notices  the 
opening  of  the  body  of  Aristomenes  by  the  Lacedse- 


170  JOURNAL    OF 


monians,  "  to  see  whether  it  contained  anything  extra 
ordinary."  The  late  John  Bell  admitted  that  Hip 
pocrates  dissected  apes.  Haydon's  first  lecture  on 
painting  may  be  consulted  for  the  anatomical  know 
ledge  of  Greek  artists.  He  appeals  to  Burke,  who 
said — "  The  author  of  Laocoon  was  as  deeply  skilled 
as  Halle  or  Graubius,  and  hence  has  been  able  to  give 
that  consistency  of  expression  which  prevails  through 
the  whole  body,  from  the  face,  through  every  muscle, 
to  the  ends  of  the  toes  and  fingers." 

It  is  remarkable  that  Hippocrates  speaks  of  ac 
quaintance  with  the  physical  constitution  of  man,  as 
belonging  less  to  the  art  of  medicine  than  of  design. 
Winckleman  thought  that  ancient  painters  studied 
the  forms  of  animals  with  reference  to  the  human 
figure  ;  and  he  discovered  in  the  heads  of  Jupiter 
and  Hercules  the  characteristics  of  the  lion  and  bull. 
Mr.  Eastlake  sees  in  the  study  of  comparative  ana 
tomy  the  '•'  knowledge  which  would  best  enable  them 
to  define,  and,  therefore,  to  exaggerate,  when  neces 
sary,  the  human  characteristics."  It  should,  how 
ever,  be  remembered,  that  Sir  Charles  Bell,  who  be 
stowed  much  thought  on  the  anatomy  and  philosophy 
of  expression,  dissented  from  this  view. 

But  I  must  not  prolong  my  stay  in  old  Athens, 
although  these  glimpses  of  life,  two  or  three  thousand 
years  old,  cannot  but  be  entertaining.  After  all, 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  171 

Cheapside  is  only  a  Greek  street  under  another  name. 
Even  the  toyshop  was  there,  with  every  variety  of 
playthings,  from  the  ivory  bed  to  the  clay  doll 
painted.  Nursery  rhymes  were  widely  circulated  ; 
and  the  veritable  English  "  BOGY  "  enjoyed  its  reign 
of  terror,  as  "  Akko,"  or  "  Alphito."  Perhaps  a 
"  Parent's  Assistant,"  by  a  popular  Greek  Edge- 
worth,  may  yet  reward  some  educational  unroller  of 
manuscripts. 

Meanwhile,  the  question  naturally  arises,  why  an 
cient  life  and  history  are  so  rarely  adapted  to  the 
purposes  of  instructive  fiction. 

A  tale  of  manners  should  refer  to  antiquity  so  re 
mote  as  to  become  venerable,  or  present  a  vivid  re 
flection  of  scenes  passing  round  us.  The  novel  ac 
cordingly  has  a  twofold  aspect,  as  it  portrays  the  past 
or  present — our  ancestors  or  ourselves.  And  with 
regard  to  the  former,  it  may  be  historical  or  domestic; 
or  both  may  be  blended  and  interwoven  ;  the  histori 
cal  being  the  pattern,  and  the  domestic  the  thread  it 
is  worked  in.  Perhaps  the  Quentin  Durward  of  Scott 
affords  the  happiest  example  of  the  united,  as  the 
Vicar  of  Wakefield  of  the  separated,  elements.  Few 
travellers,  however,  have  penetrated  into  the  country 
of  the  rich  ancients.  Greek  and  Latin  life,  with  one 
or  two  exceptions,  remains  unpainted.  People  know 
it  chiefly  from  languid  epics. 


172  JOURNAL    OF 


The  Anacharsis  of  Barthelemy  is  not  free  from  the 
defect  of  Glover.  Becker  compares  his  characters  to 
antique  statues,  in  French  costume  and  lace  ruffles. 
Telemachus  still  stands  alone. 

JULY  21st. — Sitting  under  a  tree  this  evening, 
with  the  Faery  Queen  in  my  hand,  it  was  curious  to 
watch  the  sunset  falling  like  dew-drops  through  the 
boughs,  and  spotting  the  page  with  golden  green.  I 
remembered  how  often,  at  Cambridge,  in  the  chapel 
of  King's,  I  had  read  the  Bible  in  the  glow  of  the 
painted  windows,  until  every  letter  seemed  to  be  illu 
minated  like  an  old  missal.  Spenser  ought  to  be 
studied  as  he  wrote,  in  the  sun.  His  system  of  com 
position  resembled  the  Venetian  style  of  painting,  as 
his  rich  epithets  answer  to  his  warmth  of  tone.  His 
landscapes  are  English,  with  southern  light  streaming 
round  them : 

Now  when  the  rosy-fingered  morning  faire, 
"Weary  of  aged  Tithone's  saffron  bed, 
Had  spread  her  purple  robe  through  dewy  aire, 
And  the  high  hills  Titan  discovered. 

The  blue  robe  of  the  morning,  and  the  far-off  purple 
rim  of  the  hills,  have  the  lucid  depth  and  splendour 
of  Titian.  And  if  the  colour  of  Spenser  be  Vene 
tian,  his  combinations  are  often  Flemish.  A  picture 
of  Rubens  is  a  commentary  on  a  stanza. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  173 

He  has  been  justly  regarded  as  our  painter's  poet. 
They  who  esteem  him  least,  admire  his  rare  eye  for 
effect  and  artistic  arrangement.  Hence  Walpole  told 
his  arid  correspondent,  Mr.  Cole,  that  he  was  building 
a  bower,  and  feared  that  he  must  go  and  read  Spen 
ser,  wading  through  all  his  allegories  to  get  at  a  pic 
ture.  He  would  easily  have  found  it.  For  Spenser 
is  not  the  representative  of  a  single  school,  but  the 
abstract  and  epitome  of  each.  The  brilliant  flush  of 
his  general  manner  belongs  to  Rubens ;  his  feminine 
expression  reflects  the  serenity  of  Guido  ;  the  melody 
of  his  language  breathes  the  bloom  of  Correggio; 
his  wilder  contortions  of  imagination  recall  the  fierce 
audacity  of  Spranger ;  and  his  dark  sketches  of  ugli 
ness  and  crime  foretell  Salvator  Rosa.  Not  as  we  see 
him  in  the  tossing  pines,  driving  hurricanes,  and 
swarthy  brigands  of  his  landscape ;  but  as  he  startles 
us  in  his  historical  portraits,  es^cially  in  the  "  Regu- 
lus  "  at  Cobham.  I  might  add  that  Spenser's  passion 
for  sumptuous  processions,  splendid  companies,  and  va 
riegated  festivals,  proclaims  his  relationship  to  Paul 
Veronese,  who  was  unsurpassed  for  his  exquisite  dis 
posal  of  lights,  Eastern  dresses,  and  gorgeous  array 
of  priests  and  warriors. 

Spenser's  portraits  are,  in  the  truest  sense,  Vene 
tian.  Titian,  taking  up  the  rude  back  grounds  of 
Philippo  Lippi,  raised  landscape-painting  into  a  sepa- 


174  JOURNAL    OF 


rate  branch  of  art ;  but  the  historical  pencils  succeeded 
equally  in  trees  and  nature.  In  the  Faery  Queen, 
the  harmony  between  faces  and  scenery  is  striking. 
I  venture  to  suggest  another  peculiarity  in  the  poet's 
characters.  The  senatorial  dignity  of  Titian's  heads 
is  felt  by  every  spectator  ;  Spenser  awakens  the  same 
feeling  of  awe  and  interest,  by  the  beautiful  haze  of 
his  allegory.  The  softening  shade  into  which  he  with 
draws  his  heroes  and  heroines,  both  deepens  the  lustre 
of  their  features,  and  lends  a  solemnity  to  their  ex 
pression. 

With  all  his  beauties,  he  is  not,  and  will  not  bo,  a 
favourite  of  the  many.  His  cantos  are  never  read 
for  their  story.  The  criticism  of  Pope's  old  Lady  is 
still  true.  They  are  picture  galleries.  The  eye  of 
thoughtful  taste  never  grows  weary  of  them.  It  sinks 
down  into  the  verdant  depth  of  a  stanza,  as  of  the 
greenest  landscape  o%Albano.  But  allegory  has  de 
fects  inherent  and  unconquerable.  Gay  worlds  of 
fiction,  hanging  upon  nothing,  and  launched  into  the 
wide  expanse  of  imagination,  must  be  shone  over  and 
warmed  by  common  feelings  and  life.  When  that 
light  and  heat  are  wanting,  the  eye  may  be  dazzled, 
but  the  heart  is  untouched.  The  reader  strays 
through  an  enchanted  garden  sighing  for  the  familiar 
voices  of  affection,  and  the  charm  of  home-endear 
ment.  Like  the  Trojan  exile  in  the  Latin  paradise, 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  175 

he  opens  his  arms  in  vain  to  a  shadowy  Anchises ; 
and  the  child  cannot  embrace  his  father  in  the  Ely 
sium  of  fancy. 

These  are  the  difficulties  of  parabolic  description. 
If  Spenser  could  not  bend  the  bow,  what  hand  may 
try  ?  The  English  taste  turns  aside  from  allegory  in 
its  fairest  form.  Opie  complained  that  no  landscape 
was  admired,  except  a  view  of  some  particular  place  ; 
and  Payne  Knight  declared  that  he  had  seen  more 
delight  manifested  at  a  piece  of  wax-work,  or  a  mack 
erel  painted  on  a  deal  board,  than  he  had  ever  ob 
served  to  be  excited  by  the  Apollo  or  Transfiguration. 

JULY  22d. — Johnson  says  something  about  the 
impossibility  of  a  conversationist  being  honest.  No 
account  can  answer  his  cheques.  To  keep  up  appear 
ances,  he  draws  gold  under  another  name.  Talkers 
in  books  are  not  exempt  from  the  difficulties  or  penal 
ty  of  their  brethren  round  the  table.  Henceforth, 
Mr.  Sydney  Smith  must  relinquish  the  most  striking 
image  in  his  famous  portrait  of  a  poor  ecclesiastic : 
"A  picture  is  drawn  of  a  clergyman  with  130/.  per 
annum,  who  combines  all  moral,  physical,  and  intel 
lectual  advantages ;  a  learned  man,  dedicating  himself 
intensely  to  the  care  of  his  parish  ;  of  charming  man 
ners  and  dignified  deportment ;  six  feet  two  inches 
high,  beautifully  proportioned,  with  a  magnificent 


176  JOURNAL    OF 


countenance,  expressive  of  all  the  cardinal  virtues 
and  the  Ten  Commandments." — (Works,  T.  iii.  200.) 
The  proprietor  of  the  phrase  is  Miss  Seward,  in  a  let 
ter  to  Gr.  Hardinge,  (T.  ii.  250.)  about  a  gentleman 
who  was  not  so  good  as  he  looked :  "  So  reserved  as 
were  his  manners !  and  his  countenance !  a  very 
tablet  upon  which  the  Ten  Commandments  seemed 
written" 

JULY  23d. — I  never  saw  so  many  glow-worms  to 
gether  as  on  this  balmy  evening ;  and  their  sparkle 
is  unusually  vivid,  occasioned,  I  suppose,  by  the  deli 
cious  weather  ;  for  the  glow-worm  grows  brighter  or 
dimmer,  as  the  air  is  warmer  or  colder.  All  the  bank 
is  on  fire  with  these  diamonds  of  the  night,  as  Darwin 
calls  them.  If  Titania  had  overturned  a  casket  of 
jewels  in  a  quarrel  with  Oberon  the  grass  would  not 
have  looked  gayer.  Thomson  describes  the  appear 
ance  with  his  usual  liveliness : 

Among  the  crooked  lanes,  on  ev'ry  hedge 

The  glow-worm  lights  his  gem,  and  through  the  dark 

A  moving  radiance  twinkles. 

Perhaps  he  is  slightly  astray  in  his  zoology ;  for  al 
though  the  male  has  two  spots  of  faint  lustre,  the 
female  is  the  real  star  of  the  wood-path.     A  double 
•    portion  of  light  is  her  compensation  for  the  loss  of 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  177 

wings.  Her  lamp  is  to  bring  to  her  the  friend  she  is 
unable  to  visit.  She  may  be  seen  in  a  summer  even 
ing  climbing  up  a  blade  of  grass,  to  make  herself 
more  conspicuous.  Good  Mr.  White,  of  Selborne, 
compared  her  to  the  classic  lady  who  lighted  the 
tower  across  the  Hellespont,  and  of  whom  such  pretty 
stories  are  related. 

Coleridge,  in  a  note  to  one  of  his  own  poems — 

Nor  now,  with  curious  sight, 
I  mark  the  glow-worm  as  I  pass 
Move  with  green  radiance  through  the  grass, 

An  emerald  of  light, 

drew  attention  to  Wordsworth's  epithet  of  green,  ap 
plied  to  the  light  of  this  insect.  Whereupon  Miss 
Seward  wrote  to  Gary,  in  1 798,  "  That  light  is  per 
fectly  stellar;  and  Ossian  calls  the  stars  green  in 
twenty  parts  of  his  poetry,  published  before  Words 
worth,  who  is  a  very  young  man,  was  born."  The 
same  ingenious  lady  mentions  her  feeling  of  surprise, 
in  childhood,  at  finding  the  verdant  colour  of  the 
stars  and  glow-worms  unobserved  by  poetic  eyes. 
And  certainly  she  appears  to  have  forestalled  Words 
worth,  in  a  line  of  her  Llangollen  Vale : 

While  glow-worm  lamps  effuse  a  pale  green  light 

After  all  it  is  only  a  question  of  reproduction ;  the 
8* 


178  JOURNAL    OF 


green  brightness  is  a  literal  translation  of  Lucre 
tius. 

The  "twinkle"  of  Thomson  is  quite  as  illustra 
tive  ;  and  in  a  Latin  poem,  written  a  hundred  years 
ago,  by  a  Mr.  Bedingfield,  the  glow-worm  is  shown 
casting  a  tremulous  gleam  along  the  wet  path.  This 
wavering  uncertainty  arises  out  of  the  power  it  has  of 
withdrawing  its  light,  as  instinct  may  suggest.  Glow 
worms  are  the  food  of  night-birds,  which  of  course 
track  them  by  their  shining.  To  put  out  the  candle, 
therefore,  is  the  surest  way  of  escaping  the  robber  ; 
and,  perhaps,  their  apprehension  of  enemies  may 
account  for  the  short  time  of  their  illumination.  Mr. 
Nowell  quotes  a  curious  experiment  of  White,  who 
carried  two  glow-worms  from  a  field  into  his  garden, 
and  saw  them  extinguish  their  lamps  between  eleven 
and  twelve  o'clock.  Later  entomologists  confirm  this 
singular  relation.  If  an  anthology  were  woven  about 
glow-worms,  Shakspere  would  scarcely  be  allowed  to 
compete  for  the  prize.  He  never  notices  them  with 
out  some  incorrectness.  His  strangest  mistake  was 
placing  the  light  in  the  eyes ;  whereas  a  momentary 
glance  would  have  convinced  him  that  it  proceeded 
from  the  tail. 

But  I  have  been  turning  glow-worms  to  an  use 
this  evening,  which  no  naturalist  probably  ever 
thought  of — reading  the  Psalms  by  their  cool  green 


SUMMKI!    Tl.MK    IiN    THE    COUNTRY.  179 

radiance.  I  placed  six  of  the  most  luminous  insects  I 
could  find  in  the  grass  at  the  top  of  the  page ;  mov 
ing  them  from  verse  to  verse,  as  I  descended.  The 
experiment  was  perfectly  successful.  Each  letter 
became  clear  and  legible,  making  me  feel  deeply  and 
gratefully  the  inner  life  of  the  Psalmist's  adoration  : 
I'  0  Lord,  how  manifold  are  thy  works,  in  wisdom  hast 
thou  made  them  all ;  the  earth  is  full  of  thy  good 
ness.^ 

I  know  that  poetry  has  turned  the  fire-fly  into  a 
lantern.  Southey  enables  Madoc  to  behold  the  fea 
tures  of  his  beautiful  guide  by  the  flame  of  two  fire 
flies,  which  she  kept  prisoners  in  a  cage,  or  net  of 
twigs,  underneath  her  garments.  But,  surely,  I  am 
the  discoverer  of  the  glow-worm-taper.  And  it  answers 
the  purpose  admirably.  By  the  help  of  this  emerald 
of  the  hedge-row  and  mossy  bank,  I  can  read,  not  only 
the  hymns  of  saints  to  God,  but  God's  message  to  me. 
As  the  glittering  grass  of  the  Indian  hills  taught  me 
wisdom,  so  these  glow-worms  are  a  light  to  my  feet 
and  a  lantern  to  my  path.  I  ought  to  employ  my 
every-day  blessings  and  comforts  as  I  have  been  using 
these  insects.  I  could  not  have  read  f  Even-Song" 
among  the  trees  by  night,  unless  I  had  moved  the 
lamp  up  and  down.  One  verse  shone,  while  the  rest 
of  the  page  was  dark.  Patience  alone  was  needed. 
Line  by  lint1,  the  whole  Psalm  grew  bright.  What  a 


180  JOURNAL    OF 


lesson  and  consolation  to  me  in  my  journey  through 
the  world !  Perhaps  to-day  is  a  cloudy  passage  in 
my  little  calendar :  I  am  in  pain,  or  sorrow  of  mind 
or  body ;  my  head  throbs,  or  my  heart  is  disquieted 
within  me.  But  the  cool  sequestered  paths  of  the 
Grospel  Garden  are  studded  with  glow-worms.  I  have 
only  to  stoop  and  find  them.  Yesterday  was  health- 
fuller  and  more  joyous.  My  spirits  were  gayer ;  my 
mind  was  peacefuller ;  kind  friends  visited  me ;  or 
Grod  seemed  to  lift  up  the  light  of  His  countenance 
upon  me.  These  recollections  are  my  lanterns  in  the 
dark.  The  past  lights  up  the  present.  I  move  my 
glow-worms  lower  on  the  page,  and  read  to-day  by 
yesterday. 

Not  for  myself  only  should  these  thoughts  be 
cherished.  Every  beam  of  grace  that  falls  upon  my 
path  ought  to  throw  its  little  reflection  along  my 
neighbour's.  Whatever  happens  to  one  is  for  the 
instruction  of  another.  Even  the  glow-worm,  hum 
blest  of  stars,  has  its  shadow.  Boyle,  the  friend  of 
Evelyn,  makes  some  excellent  remarks  on  the  spiritual 
eloquence  of  woods,  fields,  and  water,  and  all  their 
swarming  inhabitants.  They  who  pass  summer-time 
in  the  country  are  especially  called  to  listen  and  look. 
The  man  who  goes  forth  to  his  work  and  labour  until 
the  evening,  has  his  teacher  by  his  side.  The  hay 
makers  who — 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  181 

Drive  the  dusky  wave  along  the  mead, 

may  remind  him  of  the  penitent,  who  said  that  his 
heart  was  withered  like  grass,  so  that  he  forgot  to  eat 
his  bread ;  the  leafy  elm,  that  shelters  the  noon-day 
rest  of  the  reaper,  should  tell  him  how  the  man  who 
stood  not  in  the  way  of  sinners  is  to  be  "  like  a  tree 
planted  by  the  water-side,  of  which  the  leaf  shall  not 
wither ;"  and  the  orchard,  that  gives  shade  and  fra 
grance  to  the  cottage  door,  ought  to  speak  of  that  ri 
pening  warmth  of  Christian  faith,  which  is  to  "  bring 
forth  more  fruit  in  its  age." 

When  a  devout  heart  knows  really  how  and  what 
to  observe,  it  has  advanced  a  great  way  towards  the 
comprehension  and  application  of  the  Apostle's  assu 
rance,  that  "  all  things  work  together  for  good  to  them 
that  love  God."  The  glow-worm,  like  the  star,  has 
its  speech  and  language.  The  Christian  is  at  church 
in  his  toil  and  in  his  loneliness ;  when  the  sun  shines 
or  the  moon  rises.  The  foot  of  his  ladder  may  rest 
on  a  tuft  of  grass,  or  a  few  flowers,  but  the  top  reaches3 
to  heaven.  Most  happy  are  they 

To  whom  some  viewless  teacher  brings 
The  secret  lore  of  rural  things. 

I  am  not  interested  by  any  feature  of  Luther's 
private  character,  so  much  as  by  his  affectionate  and 


182  JOURNAL    OF 


thoughtful  contemplation  of  nature.  A  bough  loaded 
with  cherries,  and  put  on  his  table,  a  few  fishes  from 
a  pond  in  his  garden,  a  rose  or  other  flower,  awoke  in 
his  breast  feelings  of  gratefulness  and  piety  towards 
Him,  who  sends  sunshine  and  dew  upon  the  just  and 
the  unjust.  One  evening,  when  he  saw  a  bird  perch 
ing  itself  on  a  branch  for  the  night,  he  exclaimed — 
u  That  little  bird  has  chosen  his  shelter,  and  is  about 
to  go  to  sleep  in  tranquillity ;  it  has  no  disquietude, 
neither  does  it  consider  where  it  shall  rest  to-morrow 
night,  but  it  sits  in  peace  on  that  slender  bough,  leav 
ing  it  to  God  to  provide  for  its  wants."  This  is  the 
very  temper  inculcated  in  the  Divine  exhortation, 
"  Consider  the  lilies  how  they  grow." 

JULY  24th. — I  have  no  strong  confidence  in  the 
literary  truth  of  Mr.  Pinkerton.  but  I  thank  him  for 
Walpole's  lively  letter,  June  25,  1785.  The  critical 
opinions  are  pleasant  and  sparkling  when  they  are  false. 
He  traces  Virgil's  reputation  to  grace  of  style : — "A 
Roman  farmer  might  not  understand  the  Georgics,  but 
a  Roman  courtier  was  made  to  understand  farming  ; 
and  Virgil  could  captivate  a  lord  of  Augustus's  bed 
chamber."  This  is  good  ;  but  Walpole  had  imperfect 
views  of  the  Latin  epic.  He  denied  its  power  over 
the  passions,  although  the  writer's  genius  lay  chiefly 
in  the  pathetic. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  183 

He  sees  the  colouring  of  Albano  in  Milton's  Eden. 
And  there  is  an  air  of  serious  purity  about  his  land 
scapes  that  may  justify  the  simile.  Everything 
breathes  of  repose : 

—  umbrageous  grots,  and  caves 
Of  cool  recess,  o'er  which  the  mantling  vine 
Lays  forth  her  purple  grape,  and  gently  creeps 
Luxuriant:  meanwhile  murm'ring  waters  fell 
Down  the  slope  hills,  dispers'd,  or  in  a  lake, 
That  to  the  fringed  bank  with  myrtle  crowned 
Her  crystal  mirror  holds,  unite  their  streams. 

The  most  pleasing  circumstance  connected  with  Al 
bano  is  the  anecdote  told  of  him  by  Felibien — that  his 
beautiful  wife  was  his  model  for  Graces,  and  his  chil 
dren  for  Cherubs.  It  is  interesting  to  contrast  his 
solemn  hues  and  brooding  stillness  of  trees  with  the 
works  of  the  Flemish  painters,  whose  favourite  subject 
was  also  Paradise ;  by  which  they  understood  a 
breadth  of  country  bright  with  every  shade  of  vegeta 
tion — 

Gay  tinted  woods  their  massive  foliage  threw ; 
Breathed  but  an  air  of  heaven,  and  all  the  grove 
As  if  instinct  with  living  spirit  grew, 
Rolling  its  verdant  gulfs  of  every  hue. 

Walpole  finds  in  the  swan  an  emblem  of  Racine : 
"  The  colouring  of  the  swan  is  pure  ;  his  attitudes  are 


184  JOURNAL    OF 


graceful ;  he  never  displeases  you  when  sailing  on  his 
proper  element.  His  feet  are  ugly ;  his  walk  not  nat 
ural.  He  can  soar,  but  it  is  with  difficulty  Still, 
the  impression  a  swan  leaves  is  that  of  grace.  So 
does  Racine."  Gray  placed  him  next  to  Shakspere  ; 
and  Mr.  Hallam  thinks  that  in  one  passage,  where 
they  have  both  taken  the  same  idea  from  Plutarch, 
the  French  poet  has  excelled  his  English  brother : — 


SIIAKSPERE.  RACINE. 

Thy  demon,  that's  the  spirit 
that  tempts  thee,  is 

Noble,  courageous,  high,  un- 

.  ,    ,,  Mon  genie  etonne  tremble  de- 

matchable, 

_,         ._         .       ,    ,    ,  vant  le  sien. 

Where  Caesar  is  not ;  but  near 

him,  thy  angel 

Becomes  a  fear,  as  being  o'er- 
powered. 


Certainly  the  single  line  of  Racine  embodies  a  larger 
spirit  than  Shakspere's  four.  In  the  art  of  expression, 
no  comparison  can  be  allowed.  The  style  of  Racine 
is  faultless.  Excessive  art  gives  artlessness. 

Walpole's  habits  of  thought  and  study  contracted 
his  critical  vision.  What  he  did  see  he  saw  clearly. 
But  a  small  circle  bounded  his  view.  We  find  him 
here  ridiculing  Thomson.  He  proposed  a  parallel 
for  the  Seasons  and  Pleasures  of  Imagination  in  the 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  185 

Kings  of  Hearts  and  Diamonds ;  dressed  in  robes  of 
gaudy  patches  that  do  not  unite,  and  only  differing 
from  the  Knaves  by  the  length  of  their  trains.  Aken- 
side  may  fight  his  own  battles ;  but  think  of  a  man  of 
elegance — who  set  the  fashion  in  taste — presuming  to 
insult  one  of  the  truest  poets  who  ever  struck  a  lyre  ! 
Every  day  adds  new  strength  to  the  judgment  of 
Pope,  that  the  faculty  of  understanding  a  poem  is  not 
less  a  gift  than  that  of  writing  it. 

However,  literary  history  keeps  Walpole  in  coun 
tenance.  People  have  neither  eyes  nor  ears  for  tal 
ents  they  are  without.  Crabbe,  who  was  domesticated 
with  Burke  in  the  splendour  of  his  genius  and  fame — 
sauntering  with  him  through  the  garden  or  resting 
upon  stiles — had  treasured  up  no  sayings  of  his  won 
derful  friend.  That  conversation,  which  excited  the 
alarm  and  quickened  the  indolence  of  Johnson,  melted 
like  snow  from  the  memory  of  the  poet.  Barrow  had 
no  sympathy  with  Dryden,  and  Shenstone  could  not 
discover  the  humour  of  Cervantes.  But  a  more  ex 
traordinary  instance  of  a  taste  paralysed  on  one  side 
occurs  in  the  Epistle  of  Collins  to  Sir  Thomas  Han- 
mer,  upon  his  edition  of  Shakspere.  He  refuses  him 
any  power  of  depicting  womanly  character.  The 
soft  touch  of  Fletcher  might  lay  bloom  on  the  cheek 
of  beauty;  but  Shakspere's  pencil  was  suited  only  to 
imbrown  coarser  manhood : — 


186  JOURNAL    OF 


Of  softer  mould  the  gentle  Fletcher  came, 

The  next  in  order,  as  tbe  next  in  name ; 

"With  pleased  attention,  midst  his  scenes  we  find 

Each  glowing  thought  that  warms  the  female  mind ; 

His  ev'ry  strain  the  Smiles  and  Graces  own, 

But  stronger  Shakspere  felt  for  man  alone. 

What  is  Walpole's  sneer  at  Thomson  to  this  ?  And 
who  will  hereafter  complain  of  critical  insensibility, 
or  twisted  eyesight  ?  The  author  of  the  Odes  to  the 
Passions  and  Evening  was  blind  and  deaf  to  Miranda, 
Imogen,  Constance,  Juliet,  Desdemona,  Katherine, 
and  the  long  gallery  of  nature's  beauties. 

One  poet  there  was  whom  Walpole  could  compre 
hend  and  admire  with  all  his  heart — Dr.  Darwin. 
He  told  Hannah  More  that  the  Botanic  Garden  was 
an  admirable  poem,  abounding  in  similes,  ';  beautiful, 
fine,  and  sometimes  sublime."  The  Triumph  of  Flora 
he  considered  to  be  enchantingly  imagined  ;"  and  the 
description  of  the  creation  of  the  world  out  of  chaos, 
to  be  the  grandest  passage  in  any  author  or  language ! 
Thomson  is  a  king  of  diamonds,  with  a  train ;  and 
Darwin  is  the  brother  and  companion  of  Milton.  I 
am  not  running  down  the  Lichfield  Claudian.  His 
talents  were  great.  In  his  own  way  he  is  surprising. 
In  a  certain  theatrical  splendour  of  impersonation, 
such  as  the  man  escaping  from  a  house  on  fire — 

Pale  danger  glides  along  the  falling  roof — 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  187 

he  may  be  compared  with  Mason.  His  descriptions 
of  the  infant  on  the  mother's  breast,  the  array  of 
Cambyses  in  the  desert,  and  Love  riding  on  the  lion, 
are  worthy  of  being  remembered  with  Gray.  He  is 
astonishingly  happy  in  occasional  epithets,  as  when  he 
speaks  of  the  bristling  plumes  of  the  eagle.  I  may 
say  of  him,  in  the  language  of  one  of  his  friends,  even 
more  grandiloquent  than  himself,  though  shrewd  and 
clever  withal — His  poetry  "is  a  string  of  poetical 
brilliants  ;  but  the  eye  will  be  apt  to  want  the  inter 
stitial  black  velvet  to  give  effect  to  their  lustre." 
And  now  that  the  gossip  of  his  flatterers  about  the 
"softness  of  Claude,"  the  "sublimity  of  Salvator," 
&c.,  is  forgotten,  criticism  may  fairly  give  him  his 
due.  Gary  compared  the  Botanic  Garden  to  a  picture 
by  Breughel — flower  or  velvet  Breughel,  as  he  was 
called.  And  the  resemblance  is  obvious.  If  Darwin 
had  painted  a  Madonna  and  Child,  he  would  have  put 
them,  as  Breughel  did,  in  a  garland  of  flowers. 

He  worked  after  a  bad  pattern.  Akenside  was 
his  favourite.  An  universal  glitter  strikes  the  eye. 
The  reader  feels  that  oppression  of  light  which  Gray 
apprehended  in  his  own  splendid  fragment  on  Educa 
tion  and  Government.  Where  all  is  finished  and  all 
shines,  the  general  effect  fails,  by  wanting  the  chiaro 
scuro. 


188  JOURNAL    OF 


JULY  26th. — The  longer  we  live  among  books  and 
men,  the  less  we  ought  to  be  surprised  by  anything 
we  read  or  hear.  But  this  morning  my  caution  was 
quite  overturned  by  a  philosopher  and  a  poet.  Thus 
writes  Sir  Thomas  Brown  • — "  Another  misery  there 
k  in  affection,  that  whom  we  truly  love  like  ourselves 
we  forget  their  looks,  nor  can  our  memory  retain  the 
idea  of  their  faces  ;  and  it  is  no  wonder,  for  they  are 
ourselves,  and  our  affection  makes  their  looks  our 
own."  And  this  is  the  commentary  of  Mr.  Cole 
ridge  : — "  A  thought  I  have  often  had,  and  once  ex 
pressed  it  in  a  lin£.  The  fact  is  certain."  Strange 
delusion  !  The  words  should  be  reversed.  Rather 
say : — We  forget  our  own  faces  in  the  faces  of  those 
whom  we  love.  We  disappear  in  them — have  no  liv 
ing,  breathing  existence,  apart  from  theirs.  Our  re 
collection  is  not  limited  to  the  features,  the  shape  of 
the  countenance,  the  complexion.  Nothing  has  faded. 
The  colour  of  the  eyes  in  the  changefulness  of  plea 
sure,  sadness,  health,  or  pain,  lives  before  us,  as  if 
Titian  or  Lely  had  kept  watching  them  with  a  pencil. 
.No  canvas  absorbs  colours  like  memory.  It  makes 
every  thing  minister  to  itself.  A  field-path,  a  seat 
under  trees,  a  garden-bed,  a  particular  flower,  recall 
the  posture,  the  look,  even  the  glow,  of  sunset,  or 
fainter  moonshine,  that  tinged  the  cheek  or  hair  of  a 
dear  companion  in  some  hour  of  unusual  interest. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  189 

John  Newton,  Cowper's  friend,  said,  in  after  life,  that 
the  face  of  the  young  girl  whom  he  so  passionately 
loved,  used  to  shine  down  upon  the  lonely  deck  as  he 
stood  at  the  wheel,  steering  the  ship  through  the  tem 
pest.  Amid  foam  and  lightning,  or  the  dreadfuller 
storms  of  his  own  troubled  spirit,  there  was  she — re 
buking,  cheering,  and  blessing  him. 

This  reviving  influence  applies,  in  a  pathetic  ful 
ness,  to  the  departed — the  lost.  Affection  has  its 
pure  crystal,  never  stained  or  broken  except  in  death. 
The  hand  and  the  mirror  fall  together.  On  this  bright 
surface  of  love's  remembrance,  we  behold  our  friends 
with  the  clearness  of  natural  faces  reflected  in  a  glass  ; 
and  we  see  them  in  connexion  with  the  parting,  closing 
scene.  That  room  may  have  crumbled  before  the 
hammer,  or  the  saw ;  its  furniture  may  be  scattered 
or  destroyed.  But  for  us  all  things  remain  as  they 
were.  Not  a  chair  has  been  moved ;  not  a  fold  of 
drapery  has  been  rumpled  by  time.  The  Bible  lies 
open  upon  the  bed  ;  the  book  of  prayer  has  the  fa 
miliar  page  turned  down  ;  the  watch  "hangs  by  the 
pillow ;  the  "  asking  eye"  turns  to  ours !  Thus, 
indeed,  affection  makes  the  dear  faces  always  present 
to  us ;  and  instead  of  their  looks  being  effaced,  we 
forget  our  own. 

JULY  27th. — The  "  Homeric"  question,  as  I  may 


190  JOURNAL    OF 


call  it,  seems  to  be  the  silliest  that  ever  was  put  to  a 
critical  vote.  Schlegel  denied  that  the  poet  was  blind 
— Coleridge,  that  he  lived.  One  gives  him  eyes ;  the 
other  takes  his  life.  They  who  adopt  the  German 
theory  of  multiplied  authorship  must  be  ignorant  of 
the  unity  of  the  Iliad.  It  is  as  much  built  on  a  plan 
as  St.  Paul's ;  the  master-mind  is  felt  in  every  part. 
It  would  be  as  true  to  call  Wren  a  concrete  name  for 
the  bricklayers  of  the  Cathedral,  as  Homer  a  tradi 
tional  synonyme  with  the  Iliad.  However,  I  have 
nothing  to  do  with  the  quarrels  of  ingenious  persons, 
poetical  or  otherwise  : — 

'Twere  wiser  far 

For  me,  enamour'd  of  sequester'd  scenes 
And  charm'd  with  rural  beauty,  to  repose 
Where  chance  may  throw  me,  beneath  elm  or  vine, 
My  languid  limbs  when  summer  sears  the  plains ; 
Or  when  rough  winter  rages,  on  the  soft 
And  sheltered  sofa,  while  the  nitrous  air 
Feeds  a  blue  flame,  and  makes  a  cheerful  hearth. 

I  only  allude  to  the  controversy  for  the  sake  of  a 
very  admirable  remark  of  Pope,  in  his  Preface — that 
^rcumstances  swiftly  rising  up  to  the  eye  of  Homer, 
had  their  impressions  taken  off  at  a  heat.  That  di 
lation  and  spreading  abroad  of  description,  which  is 
known  to  taste  under  the  name  of  "  circumstance," 
forms  an  important  element  of  poetic  art.  We  see  it 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  191 

in  the  prologue  to  the  Canterbury  Tales  ;  the  Prioress, 
her  coral  on  her  arm;  the  Frere,  in  semi-cope  of 
double  worsted ;  the  Poor  Scholar ;  the  wife  of  Bath, 
— each  has  the  distinctiveness  of  Vandyck.  Reynolds 
condemns  this  minuteness.  But  who  was  more  obser 
vant  than  Titian  of  each  separate  colour  and  shade, 
even  in  a  velvet  or  stuff?  S.  del.  Piombo  gives,  in 
one  of  his  portraits,  five  tints  of  black, — each  care 
fully  discriminated.  "  Circumstance"  is  found  most 
abundantly  in  that  poet  to  whom  Pope's  criticism 
applied.  It  comes  out  with  startling  vividness  in  the 
dress  and  weapons  of  his  chieftains.  He  tries  the 
temper  of  a  sword  with  the  delight  of  an  armourer. 
We  notice  the  same  military  feeling  in  Ariosto  ;  yet 
the  Paladins  of  the  Orlando  do  not  charm  us  like  the 
heroes  of  the  Iliad.  The  Italian  wanted  seriousness  ; 
he  had  not  the  undoubting  mind  of  Homer.  When 
he  girds  on  a  sword,  he  turns  aside  to  conceal  a  smile. 
Spenser,  with  his  pausing,  earnest  step,  approaches 
nearer  to  his  Greek  ancestor.  Look  at  Tristram  (F. 
Q.,  b.  vi.  canto  2,  stanza  39)  bending  over  the  dead 
knight : 

Long  fed  his  greedy  eyes  with  the  fair  sight 
Of  the  bright  metal,  shining  like  sun-rays, 
Handling  and  turning  them  a  thousand  ways. 

This  is  in  the   truest  spirit  of  Ajax  plundering 


192  JOURNAL    OF 


a  Trojan.  The  taking  of  "  impressions  off  at  a  heat" 
is  also  conspicuous  in  the  Homeric  battles  and  wounds. 
In 'the  sixteenth  book  of  the  Iliad,  Patroclus.  leaping 
from  his  chariot,  seized  a  stone,  which  his  hand 
covered. 

It  is  in  the  nature  of  "  circumstance"  to  attract 
every  little  thing  towards  it.  Nothing  is  too  common. 
Mr.  Keble,  in  one  of  his  Preelections  (ix.),  suggests  a 
happy  illustration  from  the  history  of  Madame  de  la 
Rochejacqueline,  so  famous  in  the  sad  story  of  La 
Vendee.  Overwhelmed  by  grief,  plundered  of  her 
property,  and  flying  from  cruel  enemies,  she  never 
theless  adds,  that  while  following  the  litter  of  her 
wounded  husband,  her  feet  were  pinched  by  tight 
shoes. 

The  descriptions  which  are  natural  in  Homer,  be 
come  picturesque  in  his  successors.  He  indicates — 
they  delineate.  He  hastily  touches  a  figure  into  the 
picture — they  bestow  skill  and  toil  upon  the  back 
ground  and  accessories.  He  produces  his  effect  by 
single  strokes.  The  slender  tongue  of  his  wolves  is 
the  one  scratch  of  the  Master.  They  work  out  their 
design  by  composition  and  costume,  light  and  shade. 
The  following  specimens,  from  two  most  dissimilar 
writers,  will  show  the  artistic  quality  of  the  poetical 
mind  in  its  elements : — 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


193 


MATERIALS  FOR  LAND 
SCAPE. 


The  rush  thatched-cottage  on 
the  purple  moor, 

Where  ruddy  children  frolic 
round  the  door; 

The  moss-grown  antlers  of  the 
aged  oak, 

The  shaggy  locks  that  fringe 
the  colt  unbroke, 

The  bearded  goat,  with  nim 
ble  eyes,  that  glare 

Through  the  long  tissue  of  his 
hoary  hair, 

As  with  quick  foot  he  climbs 
some  ruin'd  wall, 

And  crops  the  ivy  which  pre 
vents  its  fall, — 

With  rural  charms  the  tran 
quil  mind  delight, 

And  form  a  picture  to  th'  ad 
miring  sight. 


CIRCUMSTANCE. 


Two  children  in  two  neigh 
bour  villages 
Playing  mad  pranks  along  the 

heathy  leas ; 
Two  strangers  meeting  at  a 

festival ; 
Two  lovers  whispering  by  an 

orchard  wall ; 
Two  lives  bound  fnst  in  one 

with  golden  ease ; 
Two  graves  grass-green  beside 

a  gray  church-tower, 
Wash'd  with  still  rains,  and 

daisy -blossomed ; 
Two  children  in  one  hamlet 

bom  and  bred ; 
So  runs  the  round  of  life  from 

hour  to  hour. 


I  think  that  Gilpin's  definition  of  the  Picturesque 
is  sufficiently  accurate ; — that  it  includes  all  objects 
which  please  from  some  quality  capable  of  being  illus 
trated  in  painting.  The  suggestion  of  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds,  that  "  Picturesque  is  somewhat  synonymous 
to  the  word  taste."  I  am  quite  unable -to  understand  ; 


194  JOURNAL    OP 


although  his  remark  is  obviously  just,  that  Michael 
Angelo  and  Raffaelle  have  nothing  of  it ;  while  Ru 
bens  and  the  Venetian  painters  exhibit  it  in  every  va 
riety  of  shape  and  combination.  That  the  Picturesque 
is  distinct  from  the  sublime  or  beautiful,  cannot  be 
questioned.  A  certain  roughness  and  irregularity  are 
necessary  to  its  existence.  An  old  mill,  with  intri 
cate  wood-work,  clinging  mosses,  weather-strains,  and — 

The  dark  round  of  the  dripping  wheel ; 

the  dim  broken  lights  of  a  cathedral ;  the  glimmering 
hollows  and  shattered  branches  of  trees ;  rough-hewn 
park-pales, — -Each  and  all  of  these  are  features  of  the 
Picturesque.  Salvator  Rosa  and  Rubens  may  repre 
sent  it  in  painting — Spenser  and  Akenside  in  poetry. 
If  classic  literature  be  included,  Virgil  would  stand 
at  the  head  of  the  school.  Taking,  therefore,  Pictu 
resque  to  mean  any  object,  or  group,  susceptible  of 
representation  by  pencil  or  colour,  the  following,  added 
to  the  preceding  specimens,  will  display  it  under  its 
most  striking  manifestations  : — 


A  LARK  SINGING  IN  A 
RAINBOW. 


Fraught  with  a  transient  fro 
zen  shower, 
If  a  cloud  should  haply  lower, 


A   CLOUD    KINDLED    BY 

THE   SUN. 


—  as  when  a  cloud 
Of  gath'ring  hail,  with  limpid 
crusts  of  ice 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


195 


Sailing  o'er  the  landscape  dark, 

Mute  on  a  sudden  is  the  lark ; 

But  when  gleams  the  sun 
again 

O'er  the  pearl-besprinkled 
plain ; 

And  from  behind  his  watery 
veil 

Looks  through  the  thin  de 
scending  hail ; 

She  mounts,  and,  lessening  to 
the  sight, 

Salutes  the  blithe  return  of 
light, 

And  high  her  tuneful  track 
pursues 

Through  the  rainbow's  melt 
ing  hues. 


Enclosed,  and  obvious  to  the 

beaming  sun, 
Collects  his  large  effulgence, 

straight  the  heavens 
With  equal  flames  present  on 

either  hand 
The    radiant    visage,    Persia 

stands  at  gaze 
Appall' d,  and  on  the  brink  of 

Ganges  doubts 
The  snowy  vested  seer  in  Mi- 

thra's  name. 
To  which  the  fragrance  of  the 

South  shall  rise, 
To  which  his  warbled  orisons 

ascend. 


A  FACE  IN  THE  WATER. 


—  I  thither  went 
With  unexperienced  thought, 

and  laid  me  down 
On  the  green  bank,  to  look 

into  the  clear 

Smooth  lake,  that  to  me  seem 
ed  another  sky. 


A  FOG  SCENE. 


— the  dim-seen  river  seems 
Sullen  and   slow  to  roll  the 

misty  wave, 
Even  in  the  height  of  noon 

oppress' d,  the  sun 
Sheds   weak,   and   blunt,  his 

wide-refracted  ray ; 


196 


JOURNAL    OF 


As  I  bent  down  to  look,  just 

opposite 
A   shape   within   the   wat'ry 

gleam  appeared 
Bending  to   look   on   me ;   I 

started  back, 
It  started  back ;  but  pleased  I 

soon  return'd ; 
Pleased  it  returned   as   soon 

with  answering  looks 
Of  sympathy  and  love — there 

I  had  fixed 
Mine  eyes  till  now,  and  pin'd 

with  vain  desire, 
Had  not  a  voice  thus  warn'd 


"Whence  glaring  oft,  with  ma 
ny  a  broaden'd  orb, 

He  frights  the  nations. 
Indistinct  on  earth, 

Seen  through  the  turbid  air 
beyond  the  life 

Objects  appear — and  'wilder'd 
o'er  the  waste 

The  shepherd  stalks  gigantic ; 
till  at  last 

"Wreath1  d  dim  around,  in  deep 
er  circles  still 

Successive  closing,  sits  the  gen 
eral  fog, 

Unbounded  o'er  the  world. 


THE  DOOM  OF  LADURLAD. 


There,  where  the  Curse  had 
stricken  him, 

There  stood  the  miserable 

man, 

There   stood   Ladurlad,    with 
loose  hanging  arms 

And  eyes  of  idiot  wander 
ing. 

"Was  it  a  dream  ?   alas ! 


A  SEA  VIEW. 


—  with  easy  course 
The  vessels  glide,  unless  their 

speed  be  stopped 
By  dead  calms,  that  oft  lie  on 

those  smooth  seas, 
"While  every  zephyr  sleeps, 

Then  the  shrouds  drop ; 
The   downy   feather   on   the 

cordage  hung 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


197 


He  heard  the  river  flow, 
He  heard  the  crumbling  of  the 

pile, 
He    heard    the   wind    which 

showered 

The  thin  white  ashes  round. 
There  motionless  he  stood, 
As  if  he  hoped  it  were  a  dream, 
And  feared  to  move  lest  he 

should  prove 
The  actual  misery ; 
And  still  at  times  he  met  Ke- 

hama's  eye, 

Kehama's    eye    that    fastened 
on  him  still. 


Moves  not ;  the  flat  sea  shines 

like  yellow  gold 
Fused  in  the  fire,  or  like  the 

marble  floor 
Of  some  old  temple  wide ;  but 

where  so  wide, 
In  old  or  later  time,  its  marble 

floor 
Did  ever  temple  boast  as  this, 

which  here 
Spreads  its  bright  level  many 

a  league  around. 
At  solemn  distances  its  pillars 

rise, 
Sofala's  blue   rocks,    Mozam- 

bic's  palmy  steeps, 
And  lofty  Madagascar's  glit 
tering  shores. 


JULY  29th. — Renewed  my  acquaintance  with  Bos- 
suet's  noblest  sermon  upon  the  Resurrection.  How 
opposite  the  whole  system  of  French  eloquence  is  to  our 
own !  Jfhe  Henriade  to  Paradise  Lost — Corneille  to 
Shakspere !  Perhaps  the  aptest  parallel  might  be 
found  in  Pere  la  Chaise  and  the  churchyard  of  an 
English  village.  One  is  recognised  by  its  dressed 
walks,  bouquets  of  flowers,  and  sentimental  inscrip 
tions  ;  the  other  by  daisies,  heaps  of  turf,  and  moni 
tory  texts,  strewed  over  "  the  rude  forefathers  of  the 


198 


JOURNAL    OF 


hamlet."  Sparkling  conceits,  artificial  blossoms,  and 
tragic  sorrow,  abound  even  in  the  master-pieces  of 
Bossuet,  Massillon,  and  Flechier.  Sterne  hit  the  false 
taste  of  the  French  pulpit  in  Mr.  Shandy's  comment 
on  the  Corporal's  discourse:  "'I  like  it  well — 'tis 
dramatic,  and  there  is  something  in  that  way  of  wri 
ting,  when  skilfully  managed,  which  catches  the  atten 
tion.'  'We  preach  much  in  that  way  with  us,'  said 
Dr.  Slop.  'I  know  that  very  well,'  said  my  father, 
but  in  a  tone  and  manner  which  disgusted  Dr.  Slop, 
full  as  much  as  his  assent,  simply,  would  have  pleased 
him." 

But  Pere  la  Chaise  is  shone  over  by  the  sun. 
That,  at  least,  is  natural  and  true.  And  the  sermon 
often  brightens  up  with  the  warmth  of  genuine  feeling 
or  imagination.  The  following  picture  of  a  journey 
of  life  is  coloured  with  exceeding  power.  I  give  a 
hasty  and  free  copy — an  engraving  of  a  picture : — 


La  vie  humaine  est  sembla- 
ble  a  tin  chemin,  dont  Tissue 
est  un  precipice  affreux;  on 
nous  en  avertit  des  le  premier 
pas ;  mais  la  loi  est  prononc6 ; 
il  faut  avancer  toujours.  Je 
voudrois  retourner  sur  mes 
pas:  "Marche!  Marche!"  Un 
poids  invincible,  une  force  in- 


Human  life  resembles  a  path 
that  ends  in  a  frightful  pfeci- 
pice.  We  are  warned  of  it 
from  our  first  step;  but  the 
law  is  passed — we  must  ad 
vance  always.  I  would  re 
trace  my  steps — "  Forward ! 
Forward !"  An  irresistible 
weight  and  energy  drag  us 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


199 


vincible,  nous  entraine ;  il  faut 
sans  cesse  avancer  vers  le  pre"- 
cipice.  Mille  traverses,  mille 
peiues  nous  fatiguent,  et  nous 
inquietent  dans  la  route ;  en 
core  si  je  pouvois  e*viter  ce 
precipice  affreux.  Non,  non, 
il  faut  marcher ;  il  faut  courir ; 
telle  est  la  rapidite"  des  anne"es. 
On  se  console  pourtant,  parce- 
que  de  temps  en  temps,  on 
rencontre  des  objets,  qui  nous 
divertissent,  des  eaux  couran- 
tes,  des  fleurs  qui  passent,  on 
voudroit  arrester.  "Marche! 
Marche!"  Et  cependant  on 
voit  tomber  derriere  soi  tout 
ce  qu'on  avoit  passer ;  fracas 
effroyable,  inevitable  ruine. 
On  se  console  parccqu'on  em- 
porte  quelques  fleure  cueillies 
en  passant,  qu'on  voit  se  faner 
entre  ses  mains,  du  matin  au 
soir;  quelques  fruits  qu'on 
perd  en  les  goutants ;  en- 
chantement !  Toujours  en 
traine'  on  approche  du  gouffre ; 
deji  tout  commence  a.  s'effa- 
cer;  les  jardins  sont  moins 
fleurU,  les  fleure  moins  bril- 
lantes,  leurs  couleurs  moins 
vives,  les  prairies  moins  rian- 


along.  For  ever  we  draw 
nearer  to  the  precipice.  Thou 
sand  disappointments,  thou 
sand  difficulties  fatigue  and 
disquiet  us  in  the  journey. 
Oh,  that  I  could  escape  this 
terrible  precipice.  No,  no! 
still  on.  You  must  run,  so 
swift  is  the  current  of  years. 
Now  and  then,  objects  divert 
us — flowing  streams,  passing 
flowers ;  we  would  halt.  "  For 
ward  !  Forward  1"  Meanwhile, 
we  see  behind  us  everything 
falling  as  soon  as  passed — 
frightful  crash,  inevitable  des 
olation  I  Some  flowers,  snatch 
ed  in  the  morning,  perish  in 
our  hands  before  night ;  some 
fruits  we  find,  but  they  die  in 
tasting.  Strange  enchantment ! 
Always  hurried  on,  we  draw 
nigh  to  the  gulf.  Already  ev 
erything  waxes  faint,  and  goes 
out.  Gardens  grow  less  live 
ly,  flowers  less  brilliant,  mead 
ows  less  gay,  waters  less  clear. 
Everything  fades:  everything 
disappears.  The  shadow  of 
death  meets  us;  we  begin  to 
feel  that  the  gulf  is  near.  One 
step  further — to  the  edge! 


200 


JOURNAL    OF 


tes,  les  eaux  moins  clairs ;  tout 
B€  ternit ;  tout  s'efFace ;  1'om- 
bre  de  la  mort  se  presente ;  on 
commence  a  sentir  1'approclie 
du  gouffre  fatal :  Mais  il  faut 
aller  sur  le  bord,  encore  un 
pas.  Deja  1'horreur  trouble 
lea  sens;  la  tfete  tourne;  les 
yeux  s'egarent;  il  faut  mar 
cher.  On  voudroit  retourner 
en  arriere;  plus  de  moyen; 
tout  est  tomb6 ;  tout  est  eva- 
noui;  tout  est  ^ehapp6.  Je 
n'ai  besoin  de  vous  dire  que 
ce  cbemin,  c'est  la  Tie;  que 
ce  gouffre  c'est  la  Mort. 


Already  the  soul  is  dismayed ; 
the  head  turns ;  the  eyes  wan 
der.  But  on !  We  would  turn 
back — we  cannot  1  All  is  fal 
len,  all  is  vanished,  all  is 
slipped  away.  I  need  not  say 
to  you  that  this  Road  is — 
Life ;  that  this  Gulf  is— Death. 


Mr.  Rogers  has  paraphrased  this  description  in 
Human  Life  without  preserving  the  grandeur  of  the 
original.  The  amplification  of  French  prose  destroys 
the  refining  processes  of  poetry.  The  gold  is  already 
beaten  out.  Ogilvie  mentions  a  sermon  by  Fordyce, 
where  the  death  of  a  wicked  man  is  portrayed  with 
strokes  worthy  of  Demosthenes.  And  he  quotes  the 
following  as  one  of  the  most  picturesque  images  ever 
seized  on  by  a  sublime  imagination :  "  The  dreadful 
alternative  entirely  misgives  him ;  he  meditates  the 
devouring  abyss  of  eternity ;  he  recoils  as  he  eyes 
it."  The  italics  are  Ogilvie's.  Whatever  be  the 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  201 

merit  of  the  image,  it  is  due  to  Bossuet,  whom  For- 
dyce  copied. 

JULY   30th. — Mr.  Wordsworth  sings  in  musical 
verse — 

The  blackbird  in  the  summer  trees, 

The  lark  upon  the  hill, 
Let  loose  their  carol  when  they  please, 

Are  quiet  when  they  will. 
With  nature  never  do  they  wage 

A  foolish  strife :  they  see 
A  happy  youth,  and  their  old  age 

Is  beautiful  and  free. 

The  former  part  of  the  description  is  unquestionable, 
but  the  latter  may  be  doubted.  We  know  little  of 
the  closing  days  of  birds — what  they  suffer  or  regret. 
One  fact  alone  is  ascertained  ;  that  their  existence  is 
short,  in  proportion  to  what  I  may  venture  to  call 
their  mental  influences.  The  calm  swan  sails  into  his 
third  century,  and  the  emulative  nightingale  warbles 
away  its  sweet  life,  before  it  has  seen  its  sixteenth 
summer.  As  to  the  happiness  of  old  age  among  the 
feathered  tribe,  nothing  can  be  told,  because  nothing 
is  known.  The  bird  in  the  cage  evidently  feels  the 
burden  of  years,  and  often  becomes  dependent  on 
friendly  hands  for  assistance  in  his  infirmities.  Why 
should  the  patriarch  of  the  trees  escape  the  trials  of 
y* 


202  JOURNAL    OF 


his  brother  in  confinement?  Affection  seldom  sur 
vives  the  nest.  A  story  is  told  of  a  thrush  feeding  a 
captive  blackbird  for  ten  days  with  tender  assiduity. 
But  an  occasional  example  proves  no  rule.  The  whole 
subject  of  bird-manners  and  customs  is  full  of  lively 
and  enduring  interest.  How  much  may  the  little  mu 
sician,  among  the  apple-bloom,  know  and  feel  in  com 
mon  with  sad  and  thoughtful  minds — with  Falkland 
or  Bishop  Jewell? 

The  mere  circumstance  that  a  bird  dreams  is  a 
link  that  fastens  it  to  man.  Beckstein  mentions  a 
bullfinch,  which  frequently  fell  from  its  perch  in  the 
terror  of  sleep,  and  became  immediately  tranquil  and 
reassured  by  the  voice  of  its  mistress. 

Birds  may  engage  a  man's  study  as  well  as  him 
self.  They  enjoy  some  of  his  best  and  brightest  emo 
tions.  They  are  loving  and  faithful.  Their  memory 
is  quick  and  lasting.  Old  trees,  shadowy  eaves,  and 
blossomy  hedges,  are  known  and  revisited  year  after 
year.  Who  can  tell  the  rush  of  sorrow  into  the  mind 
of  the  nightingale,  landed  from  a  Syrian  garden  about 
the  12th  of  April,  and  suspended  in  a  parlour-nook 
on  the  following  evening  !  Its  eye  has  a  painful  ca 
pacity  of  showing  affliction — the  iris  becomes  con 
tracted.  And  if  birds  have  some  of  our  feelings,  they 
have  more  than  our  ingenuity.  Not  to  mention  their 
architecture  and  educational  economy,  they  know  the 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  203 

hour  of  the  day  without  clocks.  The  goat-sucker,  or 
churn-owl,  begins  its  lonely  song  at  sunset ;  he  never 
loses  a  minute ;  so  that  in  a  village  where,  in  still 
weather,  the  Portsmouth  evening  gun  is  often  heard, 
the  boom  and  the  note  intermingle.  If  a  signal  were 
given,  the  two  sounds  could  not  be  more  even. 

AUGUST  1st. — Mr.  Kogers  is  reported  to  have  ex 
pressed  astonishment  that  Prior  is  not  more  read. 
But  the  poet  outlawed  himself.  Johnson's  theory 
about  his  fitness  for  a  lady's  table  will  now  find  very 
few  advocates.  I  wish  it  were  otherwise.  Some  of 
his  serious  verses  are  marked  by  great  beauty  and 
elegance.  Take  these,  to  Bishop  Sherlock : — 

No  more  with  fruitless  care  and  cheated  strife, 
Chase  fleeting  pleasure  through  the  maze  of  life. 

O  save  us  still,  still  bless  us  with  thy  stay ; 

0  want  thy  heaven,  till  we  have  learnt  the  way. 

His  Solomon,  though  rough,  and  deficient  in  variety 
of  interest,  is  sown  with  thoughts  and  images  of  pen 
sive  grace,  that  dwell  on  the  memory  :- 

Vex'd  with  the  present  moment's  heavy  gloom, 
Why  seek  we  brightness  from  the  years  to  come  ? 
Disturbed  and  broken,  like  a  sick  man's  sleep, 
Our  troubled  thoughts  to  distant  prospects  leap, 


204  JOURNAL    OF 


Desirous  .still  what  flies  us  to  o'ertake ; 

For  hope  is  but  the  dream  of  those  that  wake. 

The  last  line  is  scarcely  excelled  by  Pope's  descrip 
tion  of 

—  faith  our  early  immortality. 

The  thought  is  of  Greek  origin.  I  am  indebted 
for  an  acquaintance  with  it  to  a  critic  of  this  Journal 
upon  its  first  appearance.  In  1696.  a  translated  life 
of  Aristotle  was  published,  containing,  among  other 
sayings  of  the  Philosopher,  the  remarkable  senti 
ment — "  Hope  is  the  dream  of  one  that  awaketh :" 
and  Prior  was  in  the  habit  of  borrowing  illustrations 
from  obscure  books. 

But  the  strength  of  Prior  lay  in  his  pleasant  nar 
rative  and  sparkling  fictions ;  there  he  was  a  master. 
One  of  his  warmest  admirers  in  this  style  was  the 
author  of  John  Gilpin :  "  What  suggested  to  Johnson 
the  thought  that  the  'Alma'  was  written  in  imitation 
of  'Hudibras,'  I  cannot  conceive.  In  former  years, 
they  were  both  favourites  of  mine,  and  I  often  read 
them ;  but  I  never  saw  in  them  the  least  resemblance 
to  each  other,  nor  do  I  now,  except  that  they  are  com 
posed  in  verse  of  the  same  measure."  Cowper's  criti 
cism  is  scarcely  correct.  Butler  was  evidently  the 
model  of  Prior.  The  difference  is  that  of  tempera 
ment/  aihe  earlier  poet  seeming  to  compose  with  the 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


205 


toil  of  thoughtful  scholarship  ;  the  later,  with  the  ease 
and  enjoyment  of  a  quick  and  sportive  fancy.  Hudi- 
bras  has  a  learned,  ponderous  look  and  sound ;  Alma 
runs  along  with  the  clatter  and  jingle  of  good  spirits. 
Goldsmith,  who  could  not  understand  it,  admitted 
parts  to  be  very  fine. 

We  see  in  all  the  gayer  efforts  of  Prior  a  neatness 
and  economy  of  phrase,  to  which  his  contemporaries 
or  successors  have  seldom  attained.  A  comparison 
with  Gray  is  the  severest  ordeal  of  criticism ;  but  in 
this  stanza,  Prior  wins  the  crown.  It  is  a  curious  in 
stance  of  the  vanity  of  all  human  genius,  that  the 
finer  original  should  have  been  forgotten  in  the  weaker 
imitation.  The  thought  has  become  proverbial — a 
coin  passed  into  the  general  currency  :  but  the  name 
of  Prior  is  rubbed  out : 


PRIOR. 

If  we  see  right,  we  see  our 

woes: 
Then  what  avails  it  to  have 

eyes? 
From   ignorance  our  comfort 

flows  ; 
The   only  wretched    are   the 

wise. 


GRAY. 

Yet,   ah !   why  should    they 

know  their  fate, 
Since  sorrow  never  comes  too 

late, 
And    happiness    too    swiftly 

flies? 
Thought  would  destroy  their 

paradise. 
No  more  ;  where  ignorance  is 

bliss, 
Tis  folly  to  be  wise. 


206  JOURNAL    OF 


Prior  is  numbered  among  the  last  of  English 
rhymers  who  adorned  heroines  with  Diana's  quiver,  or 
borrowed  Mercury  for  a  messenger.  One  does  not 
see  why  the  classic  properties  should  have  been  aban 
doned  as  useless.  The  fictions  of  mythology  are  so 
many  elements  of  the  picturesque.  In  this  sense  the 
greatest  painters  regarded  them.  It  is  absurd  to 
talk  of  belief  or  reality.  The  Olympian  people  are 
like  the  old  armour  of  Rembrandt,  or  the  purple  man 
tle  of  Titian ;  nothing  more.  I  cannot  agree  with 
Johnson,  that  pagan  machinery  is  uninteresting  to  us, 
or  that  a  goddess  in  Virgil  makes  us  weary.  Besides 
being  a  source  of  the  decorative  in  poetry  and  art, 
Greek  and  Latin  mythology  filled  up  the  want  of  do 
mestic  interest.  In  the  JEneid,  the  mother  of  the 
hero  sheds  charms  of  womanhood  over  the  adventures 
and  perils  of  her  son.  She  diffuses  a  sense  of  beauty, 
like  summer-time.  The  reader  never  loses  sight  of 
Venus.  Or,  if  she  recede  from  the  eye,  the  colouring 
bloom  of  her  face  and  robe  still  flows  along  the  narra 
tive  ;  as  the  sunshine,  sinking  behind  thick  trees  for 
a  moment,  leaves  the  grass  warm  with  its  recent 
splendour. 

AUGUST  2d. — Amusement  is  the  waking  sleep  of 
labour.  When  it  absorbs  thought,  patience,  and 
strength,  that  might  have  been  seriously  employed,  it 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


207 


loses  its  distinctive  character,  and  becomes  the  task 
work  of  idleness.  For  this  reason,  an  elegant  occupa 
tion  of  leisure  hours  may  be  very  questionable  to  a 
Christian  mind,  keeping  a  debtor-and-creditor  account 
of  time.  In  any  case,  the  opinions  of  the  Bishop 
and  Poet  are  worth  hearing : — 


CHESS. 

BISHOP   BEVERIDGE. 

Either  'tis  a  lottery  or  not.  If 
it  be  a  lottery,  it  is  not  law 
ful  ;  because  'tis  a  great  pre 
sumption  and  sin  to  set  God 
at  work  to  recreate  ourselves. 
If  it  be  not  a  lottery,  then  it 
is  not  a  pure  recreation;  for 
if  it  depends  on  man's  wit  and 
study,  it  exercises  his  brain 
and  spirits  as  if  he  was  about 
other  things.  So  that  being 
on  one  side  not  lawful— on 
the  other  side  no  recreation, 
it  can  on  no  side  be  lawful. — 
Private  Thoughts. 


CHESS. 

WILLIAM   COWPEK. 

Who,  then,  that  has  a  mind 

well  strung  and  tuned 
To  contemplation,  and  within 

his  reach 
A   scene    so   friendly   to    his 

fav'rite  taste, 
Would  waste  attention  on  the 

chequer'd  board, 
His  host  of  wooden  warriors 

to  and  fro 

Marching  and  counter-march 
ing,  with  an  eye 
As  nx'd    as   marble,  with  a 

forehead  ridg'd 
And    furrowed    into   storms, 

and  with  a  hand 
Trembling  as  if  eternity  were 

hung 
In  balance  on  his  conduct  of 

a  pin. 

Task,  B.  i. 


208  JOURNAL    OF 


AUGUST  3rd. — If  a  student  ever  begin  to  plume 
himself  on  his  reading  in  the  week,  let  him  take  up  a 
volume  of  Warburton,  and  learn  to  know  his  own 
poverty.  The  remedy  will  be  pungent,  but  effectual. 
This  remarkable  man  has  been  painted  by  four  pen 
cils — Bolingbroke,  Johnson,  Hurd,  and  Parr.  The 
outline  by  Pope's  friend  is  like  a  rough  study  in  chalk 
for  one  of  Rembrandt's  heads : — "  The  man  was  com 
municative  enough,  but  there  was  nothing  distinct  in 
his  mind.  To  ask  him  a  question,  was  to  wind  up  a 
spring  in  his  memory  that  rolled  in  vast  rapidity  and 
with  a  confused  noise,  till  the  force  of  it  was  spent, 
and  you  went  away  with  all  the  noise  in  your  ears, 
stunned  and  uninformed." 

The  judgment  of  Johnson  was  not  much  milder  : 
— "  If  I  had  written  with  hostility  of  Warburton  in 
my  Shakspere,  I  should  have  quoted  this  couplet : — 

Here  learning,  blinded  first  and  then  beguiled, 
Looked  dark  as  Ignorance,  as  Fancy  wild. 

You  see  they'd  have  fitted  him  to  a  T."  Dr.  Adams. 
— "  But  you  did  not  write  against  Warburton." 
Johnson. — "  No,  Sir,  I  treated  him  with  great  respect, 
both  in  my  preface  and  notes." 

Warburton  regarded  his  contemporary's  behaviour 
in  a  darker  light.  Hints  of  wounded  authorship 
break  out  in  his  letters : — "  The  remarks  he  makes  in 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  209 

every  page  on  my  commentaries  are  full  of  insolence 
and  malignant  reflections,  &c."  And,  again,  to  Hurd: 
— "  Of  this  Johnson,  you  and  I,  I  believe,  think  pret 
ty  much  alike." 

The  giants  once  met  at  the  house  of  the  Bishop 
of  St.  Asaph.  Warburton  looked  on  Johnson,  at 
first,  with  some  surliness  ;  but  after  being  jostled  into 
conversation,  they  retired  to  a  window,  and  in  taking 
leave  Warburton  patted  his  companion.  They  ought 
to  have  taken  to  each  other,  having  so  many  good  and 
evil  qualities  in  common.  Both  of  humble  parentage 
and  lifted  over  the  crowd  into  comfort  and  fame ; 
both  despots,  and  reigning  by  terror  ;  both  impetuous 
and  coarse ;  both  familiar  with  broadest  and  narrow 
est  paths  of  literature ;  Warburton  knowing  most  of 
philosophy  and  Greek  ;  Johnson  of  poetry  and  polite 
learning.  Neither  was  richly  endowed  with  taste, 
whatever  Pope  might  choose  to  affirm  of  his  advo 
cate.  But  Johnson,  even  with  Lycidas  scowling  in 
his  face,  had  the  larger  share.  Warburton  tumbled 
everything  into  his  vast  heaps  of  erudition.  That 
flame  of  genius  must  have  been  strong  which  shot  up 
through  the  rubbish  and  dust.  And  it  did  ascend. 
The  fire  is  never  stifled.  The  Legation  may  be  a 
paradox,  but  it  blazes.  The  style,  in  the  highest  de 
gree  nervous  and  animated,  abounds  in  sallies  of 
mirth,  happinesses  of  phrase,  glowing  outbursts  of 


210  JOURNAL    OF 


feeling,  and  curiosities  of  abuse.  His  sarcasm  has 
the  keenest  edge : — "  The  learned  and  judicious  Mr. 
Huet,  who,  not  content  to  seize  as  lawful  prize  all  he 
meets  with  in  the  waste  of  fabulous  times,  makes 
cruel  inroads  into  the  cultivated  ages  of  literature." — 
(D.  L.,  b.  iii.  sect.  6.) 

I  recollect  an  amusing  anecdote  of  Warburton,  in 
a  letter  of  Mrs.  Carter  (1763)  to  Miss  Talbot.  The 
scene  was  a  stage-coach  between  Deal  and  London : — 
"  As  Nancy  might  possibly  give  you  a  formidable  ac 
count  of  my  three  fellow-travellers,  I  think  it  necessary 
to  inform  you  that  they  did  not  eat  me  up ;  for  which 
I  was  the  more  obliged  to  them,  as  they  seemed  dis 
posed  to  eat  everything  else  that  came  in  their  way. 
By  their  discourse  I  believe  they  were  pilots  to  the 
packet-boats.  One  of  them,  in  great  simplicity,  gave 
a  very  concise  account  of  one  of  his  passengers.  He 
said  he  had  once  carried  over  one  Warburton,  a  very 
old  orator, — you  may  read  about  him  in  the  almanacks. 
He  was  a  member  of  parliament  then,  but  he  has  been 
made  a  bishop  since.  Poor  Bishop  Warburton,  to 
have  all  his  fame  reduced  to  what  one  may  read  about 
him  in  the  almanacks  !  " 

AUGUST  4th. — A  painter  may  sit  before  a  glass 
and  draw  himself,  but  the  mental  portrait  must  be 
taken  by  other  hands.  Every  man  is  his  own  dgi 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  211 

ceiver.  "  I  will  not  give  the  algebraist  sixpence  for 
his  encomiums  on  my  Task,  if  he  condemns  my  Homer, 
which  I  know  in  point  of  language  is  equal  to  it,  and 
in  variety  of  numbers  superior."  The  self-love  of 
Milton  was  not  weaker  than  Cowper's.  A  preference 
of  Paradise  Lost  to  Regained,  made  him  angry. 
When  Johnson  was  requested  to  name  the  finest 
couplet  he  had  ever  written,  he  repeated  the  two  most 
pompous  verses  in  his  works.  Tasso  was  willing  to 
let  the  Jerusalemme  be  estimated  by  its  weakest 
stanza.  The  mistake  of  Milton  and  Cowper  in  a 
literary,  other  authors  have  made  in  a  moral  or  per 
sonal  sense. 

"  What  has  this  book,"  exclaims  Sterne  of  Tris 
tram,  "  done  more  than  the  Legation  of  Moses,  that 
it  may  not  swim  down  the  gutter  of  time  along  with 
it ! "  "  Methinks,  when  I  write  to  you,"  says  Pope  to 
Congreve,  "  I  am  writing  a  confession.  I  have  got 
(I  cannot  tell  how)  such  a  custom  of  throwing  myself 
out  upon  paper  without  reserve."  The  last  time  Dr. 
Warton  saw  Young,  he  was  censuring  the  inflated 
style  of  poetry.  He  said  that  such  tumultuous  writers 
reminded  him  of  a  passage  in  Milton : — 

Others,  with  vast  Typhaean  rage  more  fell, 
Rend  up  both  rocks  and  hills,  and  ride  the  air 
In  whirlwinds. 


212  JOURNAL    OF 


And  yet  Sterne  must  have  known  that  his  book  was 
steeped  in  corruption  ;  Pope,  that  even  his  commonest 
notes  of  invitation  were  artificial ;  and  Young,  that  a 
swelling  extravagance  of  phrase  was  the  besetting  sin 
of  his  genius. 

We  have  an  amusing  instance  of  this  self-blindness 
in  Hogarth.  Talking  to  a  visitor  about  his  favourite 
line  of  beauty,  he  affirmed  that  no  man  who  really  un 
derstood  it  could,  by  any  accident,  be  ungraceful  in 
his  manners.  "  I  myself,"  he  added,  "  from  my  per 
feet  knowledge  of  it,  should  not  hesitate  as  to  the 
becoming  mode  of  offering  anything  to  the  greatest 
monarch."  And  at  the  very  moment  when  he  was 
enlarging  upon  the  advantages  of  being  familiar  with 
the  line  of  beauty,  his  own  attitude  was  so  unspeak 
ably  ridiculous,  that  his  friend  struggled,  almost  in 
vain,  to  refrain  from  laughter.  These  examples  are  so 
many  calls  to  reflection,  self-examination,  and  know 
ledge.  After  the  Bible,  a  man  ought  to  make  himself 
his  chief  reading.  He  must  not  skip  a  hard  page, 
but  work  out  the  meaning. 

AUGUST  5th. — Taking  up  again  the  thread  of 
poetical  imitations  which  I  began  to  unwind  the  other 
day,  I  notice  a  very  pleasing  description  by  Aaron 
Hill,  which,  in  one  or  two  lines,  is  even  tenderer  than 
the  Pleasures  of  Memory.  Southey  commends  him 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 


213 


as  deserving  respect  for  his  talents  and  virtues,  and 
"  holding  the  first  place  for  liberality  and  beneficence 
among  the  literary  men  of  his  country."  He  brought 
a  blush  into  the  cheek  of  Pope.  His  versification  is 
often  musical  and  swelling — as  upon  a  lady  at  her 
spinnet — 

Fearless  with  face  oblique,  her  formal  hand 
Plunges,  with  bold  neglect,  amid  the  keys, 
And  sweeps  the  sounding  range  with  magic  ease. 

But  the  lines,  "  Alone  in  an  Inn  at  Southampton, 
April  25,  1737,"  furnish  the  most  favourable  evidence 
of  his  talents  : — 


AARON  HILL. 

Pensive  and  cold  this  room  in 

each  changed  part, 
I   view,    and    shocked,    from 

every  object  start. 
There  hung  the  watch,   that, 

beating  hours  from  day, 
Told  its  sweet  owner's  lessen 
ing  life  away ; 
There  her  dear  diamond  taught 

the  sash  my  name ; 
Tis  gone  !  frail  image  of  love, 

life,  and  fame. 
That  glass  she  dress'd  at  keeps 

her  form  no  more ; 


ROGERS. 

As  o'er  the  dusky  furniture  I 

bend, 
Each  chair  awakes  the  feeling 

of  a  friend ; 
The   storied  arras,    source  of 

fond  delight, 
With  old  achievement  charms 

the  wilder'd  sight ; 
The  screen  unfolds  its  many- 

colour'd  chart, 
The  clock  still  points  its  moral 

to  the  heart. 
That    faithful    monitor    'twas 

heaven  to  hear, 


214 


JOURNAL    OF 


AARON  HILL. 

Not  one  dear  footstep  tunes 
th'  unconscious  floor. 

There  sat  she, — yet  those  chairs 
no  sense  retain, 

And  busy  recollection  starts 
in  vain. 

Sullen  and  dim,  what  faded 
scenes  are  here ! 

I  wonder,  and  retract  a  start 
ing  tear ; 

Gaze  in  attentive  doubt,  with 
anguish  swell, 

And  o'er  and  o'er  on  each 
weigh'd  object  dwell ; 

Then  to  the  window  rush,  gay 
views  invite, 

And  tempt  idea  to  permit 
delight ; 

But  unimpressive — all  in  sor 
row  drown'd, 

One  void  forgetful  desert 
blooms  around. 


ROGERS. 

When  soft  it  spoke  a  promised 

pleasure  near ; 
And  has   its   sober   hand,  its 

simple  chime, 
Forgot  to  trace  the  feather'd 

feet  of  Time? 

That  massive  beam  with  cu 
rious  carvings  wrought, 
Where      the     caged      linnet 
soothed  my  pensive  thought ; 
Those    muskets,    cased    with 

venerable  rust; 
Those   once-loved   forms  still 

breathing     through      their 

dust, 
Still  from  the  frame  in  mould 

gigantic  cast, 
Starting  to  life, — all  whisper 

of  the  Past 


The  watch  ticking  in  his  wife's  sickness,  and  the  glass 
that  no  longer  retained  her  image,  seem  to  me  cir 
cumstances  of  affectionate  grief  most  touchingly  con 
ceived. 

The  more  we  read,  the  more  the  original  stock  of 
thought   dwindles.     The  famous    description,  in  the 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  215 

Essay  on  Criticism,  of  the  intermediate  heights  of 
literature  ascending  before  the  eyes  of  the  climbing 
pilgrim,  which  Johnson  praised  as  the  most  apt,  sub 
lime,  and  proper  simile  in  the  English  language,  has 
been  shown  by  Warton  to  be  copied,  almost  literally, 
from  Drummond.  The  outline  having  been  traced 
over  the  glass  of  memory,  the  artist  laid  on  the 
colouring. 

Pope  sought  for  pearls  in  some  of  the  prose  wri 
ters  of  the  seventeenth  century,  who,  in  his  day,  were 
known  to  few  scholars,  and  scarcely  read  by  any.  In 
them  he  found  many  of  those  brilliant  sayings  and 
axioms  of  moral  wisdom,  which,  polished  by  taste  and 
sharpened  by  skill,  present  such  rows  of  glittering 
points  in  his  verse.  The  ingenious  designation  of  one 
year — 

—  a  resenroir  to  keep  and  spare ; 
The  next  a  fountain  spouting  through  his  heir, 

has  been  traced  to  the  Church  History  of  Fuller. 
The  same  witty  and  eloquent  writer  asks,  with  refer 
ence  to  the  contemptuous  neglect  with  which  false  and 
scandalous  rumours  should  be  regarded,  "What  mad 
ness  were  it  to  plant  a  piece  of  ordnance  to  beat 
down  an  aspen  leaf!"  Pope,  in  his  satire  upon 
Lord  Hervey,  has  the  vivacious  and  cutting  interro 
gation — 


216  JOURNAL    OF 


"Who  breaks  a  butterfly  upon  the  wheel  ? 

y  Fuller  says,  that  Monica,  the  mother  of  Augus 
tine,  "  saw  a  glimpse  of  happiness  through  the  chinks 
of  her  sickness-broken  body."  Waller,  describing  the 
calmness  of  the  mind  when  the  storms  of  youth  and 
manhood  have  subsided,  introduces  the  same  image 
into  his  celebrated  lines : — 

The  soul's  dark  cottage,  batter'd  and  decay'd, 

Lets  in  new  light,  through  chinks  which  time  has  made. 

While  speaking  of  these  resemblances  of  thought, 
I  may  notice  a  curious  coincidence  between  Dryden 
and  Lord  Bacon.  Dryden  says  of  a  satirist — 

He  makes  his  desperate  passes  with  a  smile. 

Lord  Bacon  remarks  of  controversial  writers  upon 
subjects  connected  with  the  church — "  To  search  and 
rip  up  wounds  with  a  laughing  countenance." 

Tickell  wrote  a  poem  on  the  death  of  Addison : 
popular  and  pleasing  it  is.  Goldsmith  called  it  the 
finest  elegy  in  the  language  ;  Johnson  indirectly  pre 
ferred  it  to  Milton's  pastoral  dirge.  Of  course,  the 
two  Doctors  were  equally  wrong ;  I  only  mean  to 
refer  to  the  saying  of  Steele,  that  the  poem  is  prose 
in  rhyme.  He  was  literally  correct  without  knowing 
it.  Read  the  famous  couplet — 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  217 

He  taught  us  how  to  live,  and  (oh !  too  high 
The  price  for  knowledge)  taught  us  how  to  die ; 

and  then  turn  to  the  fifth  book  of  Hooker's  Polity. 
He  is  treating  of  the  prayer  in  the  Litany  against 
sudden  death ;  and  argues  that  the  Christian  ought 
to  desire  a  dismissal  like  that  of  Moses,  or  Jacob,  or 
Joshua,  or  David — a  peaceful,  leisurely  termination 
of  life,  so  as  to  comfort  those  whom  he  leaves  behind, 
by  filling  their  hearts  with  faith  and  hope;  "and,  to 
sum  up  all,  to  teach  the  world  no  less  virtuously  how 
to  die,  than  they  had  done  before  how  to  live."  Here 
is  Tickell's  golden  rhyme  in  its  native  bed  of  prose. 
However,  in  poetry,  as  in  nature,  everything  is  double. 
If  Tickell  borrows,  he  also  lends.  His  Ode  on  the 
Prospect  of  Peace,  which  obtained  the  warm  praise  of 
Addison,  contains  the  outline  of  Goldsmith's  lively 
portrait  of  the  returning  soldier : — 


TICKELL. 

Near  the  full  bowl  he  draws  the 
fancied  line, 

And  makes  feign' d  trenches  in 
the  flowing  wine  ; 

Then  sets  the  invested  fort  be 
fore  her  eyes, 

And  mines  that  whirl'd  bat 
talions  to  the  skies. 
10 


GOLDSMITH. 

The    broken    soldier,   kindly 

bade  to  stay, 
Sat  by  his  fire,  and  talk'd  the 

night  away. 
Wept  o'er  his  wounds,  or  tales 

of  sorrow  done, 
Shoulder'd    his    crutch    and 

shoic'd  how  fields  were  won. 


218  JOURNAL    OF 


AUGUST  6th. — Sir  George  Beaumont  said  one  day 
to  Constable — "  Do  you  not  find  it  difficult  to  place  your 
brown  tree  ?"  "  Not  in  the  least,"  was  the  answer, 
"for  I  never  put  such  a  thing  in  a  picture !"  On  an 
other  occasion  the  accomplished  critic  recommended 
the  colour  of  an  old  violin  for  the  prevailing  tint  of  a 
landscape.  Constable  replied  by  laying  one  upon  the 
lawn  before  the  house.  This  morning  I  have  amused 
myself  with  looking  at  our  home  scenery,  with  refer 
ence  to  the  rival  theories ;  and  certainly,  at  the  first 
glance,  I  saw  nothing  of  the  Cremona  in  tree,  field, 
or  lane.  The  white  beech,  stained  over  with  faint, 
silvery  green,  is  unlike  the  trunk  of  Hobbema  or 
Both.  But  it  might  have  stood  to  Constable  for  its 
portrait. 

I  think  the  apparent  contradiction  may  be  ex 
plained.  The  colour  of  trees  and  grass  depends 
chiefly  on  the  light  and  distance  in  which  they  are 
viewed.  Walk  up  to  an  elm,  and  mark  the  sunshine 
running  along  its  sides,  and  afterwards  retire  to  the 
end  of  the  glade  and  look  back ;  the  bright  tint  will 
be  sobered  into  a  shadowy  gloom,  altogether  different. 
The  same  change  may  be  observed  in  the  openings  of 
a  wood ;  and  accordingly  a  poet,  who  has  the  true 
painter's  eye,  describes — 

The  mossy  pales  that  skirt  the  orchard  green, 
Here  hid  by  shrubwood,  there  by  glimpses  seen ; 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  219 

And  the  brown  pathway,  that  with  careless  flew, 
Sinks,  and  is  lost  among  the  trees  below. 

Wilkie  says  of  one  of  Titian's  famous  landscapes, 
"  The  whites  are  yellow,  the  blue  sky  is  green,  and  the 
green  trees  are  the  deepest  brown.  I  have  seen  Os- 
tade  often  on  this  scale ;  and  if  successful  effect  con 
stitutes  authority,  how  practically  terrible  is  the  tone 
of  this  great  work  ;  but  how  removed  from  the  prac 
tice  of  modern  times !" 

Clever,  scoffing  Matthews  (the  "  Invalid")  used 
to  declare  that  Gr.  Poussin's  green  landscapes  had  no 
charms  for  him,  and  that  the  delightful  verdurous  tint 
of  nature  could  not  be  transferred  by  the  pencil. 
The  great  masters  took  their  colours  from  autumn, 
breathing  a  mellow  shade  of  ideal  hues  over  the 
whole.  As  Sir  Gr.  Beaumont  observed  of  Rem 
brandt,  they  nourished  the  picture  with  warmth. 

Titian  produced  compositions  ;  Constable  copies. 
Not  a  spot  of  moss  escapes  him.  I  remember  a 
striking  illustration  of  his  faithfulness  : — "  A  cottage 
is  closely  surrounded  by  a  corn-field,  which,  on  the 
side  sheltered  from  the  heat  of  the  sun,  continues  to 
bo  green,  while  the  other  parts  are  ripening  into  the 
golden  colour.  This  truth  of  representation  drew 
from  an  admirer  the  exclamation — "  How  fresh,  how 
dewy,  how  exhilarating  !"  Of  the  elder  painters,  Al- 
bano  alone  preserved  the  green  of  his  trees,  though 


220  SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY. 

he  touched  them  with  a  soft  light  of  poetry  unknown 
and  unfelt  by  the  English  artist.  The  merit  of  Con 
stable  is  in  some  degree  that  of  Cowper.  The  middle 
tints  of  Claude,  or  the  transparent  distances  of  Ru 
bens,  were  equally  beyond  his  taste  and  capacity. 
He  is  pleasing,  because  he  is  true.  Compare  his  trees 
with  those  of  Watteau,  of  which  the  grotesqueness 
was  a  puzzle  to  Walpole,  until  he  recognised  them  in 
the  trimmed  branches  of  the  Tuileries. 

An  amusing  page  might  be  written  on  the  favour 
ite  trees  of  landscape  painters.  Gr.  Poussin  was  par 
tial  to  the  thin-leaved  acacia  ;  Ruysdael  to  the  broad 
oak ;  Claude  to  the  elm  and  stone  pine ;  Rubens  to 
the  stumpy  pollard ;  Salvator  Rosa  delighted  in  the 
chestnut.  It  flourished  in  the  Calabrian  mountains, 
where  he  studied  it  in  all  its  forms ;  breaking  and 
disposing  it,  as  Gilpin  says,  in  a  thousand  beautiful 
shapes,  as  the  exigencies  of  his  composition  required. 
Perhaps  its  brittleness,  which  causes  it  to  be  often 
shattered  by  storms,  recommended  it  still  more  to  his 
picturesque  eye. 

Claude  and  Rubens  may  be  regarded  as  the  two 
types  of  landscape  art.  Standing  between  their  pic 
tures,  we  are  led  to  compare  the  first  to  an  Idyl  of 
Theocritus ;  the  second,  to  a  splendid  grouping  of 
Thomson.  The  former  is  all  grace  and  sameness ; 
the  latter  is  all  variety  and  brightness.  In  the  Ital- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  221 

ian  master,  the  fine  sense  of  truthfulness  is  conspicuous. 
Not  only  the  season,  but  the  temperature  and  hour 
are  defined.  We  feel  warm  in  his  summer  noon,  and 
draw  our  cloak  round  us  in  the  cool  air  of  autumn 
evenings.  The  history  of  Claude  furnishes  another 
example  of  the  opposition  and  contradictions  of 
Taste.  Of  his  figures,  Wilson  said — "  Do  not  fall 
into  the  common  mistake  of  objecting  to  Claude's  fig 
ures  :"  and  Gilpin  lamented  that  the  same  pencil — 

Oft  crowded  scenes  which  nature's  self  might  own. 
With  forms  ill  drawn,  ill  chosen,  ill  arrang'd, 
Of  man  and  beast,  o'er-loading  with  false  taste 
His  sylvan  glories. 

Hazlitt  observed  of  Rubens,  that  he  carries  some  one 
quality  or  aspect  of  nature  to  the  extreme  verge  of 
probability.  In  other  words,  his  works  are  always 
picturesque — i.  e.  composed  with  reference  to  the  eye 
and  its  sensations.  In  a  picture  at  St.  Petersburgh. 
the  rose-tints  of  evening,  and  the  silver  rays  of  the 
rising  moon  are  strangely,  but  sweetly,  intermingled. 
Rubens  makes  that  appearance  to  be  Nature,  which 
is  only  one  oi  her  accidents.  I  have  seen  the  setting 
sun  redden  the  wood,  and  the  rainbow  spanning  the 
lake ;  so  that  at  one  and  the  same  instant  of  time, 
the  elm-tree  was  sprinkled  with  gold,  and  the  distant 
field  swam  in  a  melting  glory.  Rubens  would  have 


222  JOURNAL    OF 


spread  this  dazzling  confusion  of  light  and  shade  over 
his  canvas,  and  called  it  "  Evening."  Perhaps  he 
might  have  drawn  from  it  a  lesson  in  allegory ;  for 
like  the  poet  of  Faery  Land,  he  is  ever  bending  over 
the  fountains  of  fancy : — 

His  own  warm  blush  within  the  water  glows, 
"With  him  the  colour'd  shadow  comes  and  goes. 

Claude  is,  I  believe,  the  only  painter  who  has 
shown  the  beautiful  effect  of  sunshine  through  trees 
upon  water.  Rubens  endeavoured  to  copy  the  spots 
of  light  streaming  among  leaves  ;  but  the  embellish 
ment  belongs  rather  to  poetry;  and  Shakspere  has 
applied  it  to  the  appearance  of  Truth  breaking  into 
the  conscience  ;  as  the  sun — 

Fires  the  proud  tops  of  the  eastern  pines, 
And  darts  his  light  through  every  guilty  hole. 

Another  charming  accident  of  light — the  chequer 
of  sunbeams  on  the  grass — when, 

Rolling  their  mazy  network  to  and  fro, 
Light  shadows  shift  and  play, 

is  a  favourite  and  pleasing  decoration  of  landscape. 
Price  remarks,  that  in  extreme  brilliancy  of  lights 
Rubens  has  no  competitor ;  sometimes  they  are  un- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  223 

mixed  with  shade ;  or  they  burst  from  dark  clouds, 
darting  over  the  picture,  and  producing  what  is  called 
a  flicker, — very  captivating,  but  scarcely  imitable  by 
a  weaker  hand. 

The  same  admirable  critic  cautions  us  against 
looking  at  the  atmospheric  delineations  of  Rubens 
with  the  mere  English  eye.  He  painted  in  Flanders, 
where  the  thick  yellow  clouds  are  permeated  by  the 
crimson  fire  of  the  sun.  Accordingly,  he  gives  us  his 
own  nature  ;  and  wonderful  it  is.  What  air  ! — how 
thin,  impalpable  !  Only  Teniers  might  equal  it.  In 
the  "  Going  to  Market,"  at  Windsor,  the  road  that 
leads  to  the  Flemish  town  appears  to  wind  away  il- 
limitably — to  die  in  space.  And  then  the  glow  and 
shadow ! 

The  peculiar  beauties  in  the  style  and  handling  of 
Rubens  have  been  skilfully  woven  together  in  a  poem 
by  Mr.  Bowles — when  this  Journal  appeared  two 
years  ago,  the  oldest  of  our  living  poets,  but  now 
gathered  into  his  Master's  granary.  Much  of  interest 
is  folded  up  in  the  history  of  his  life ;  inspiring  Cole 
ridge,  cheering  Southey,  and  enjoying  the  friendship 
of  Crabbe.  I  have  his  last  poem — "  St.  John  in  Pat- 
mos" — enriched  by  his  own  corrections.  But  to  re 
turn  to  Rubens.  The  picture  which  Mr.  Bowles  has 
illustrated  now  hangs  in  our  National  Gallery: — 


224  JOURNAL    OF 


Nay,  let  us  gaze,  even  till  the  sense  is  full, 
Upon  the  rich  creation,  shadowed  so 
That  not  great  nature  in  her  loftiest  pomp 
Of  living  beauty,  ever  on  the  sight 
Rose  more  magnificent,  nor  aught  so  fair 
Hath  fancy  in  her  wild  and  sweetest  mood 
Imaged  of  things  most  lovely,  when  the  sounds 
Of  this  cold  cloudy  world  at  distance  sink, 
And  all  alone  the  warm  idea  lives, 
Of  what  is  great,  or  beautiful,  or  good, 
In  nature's  general  plan. 

Such  the  vast  scope, 

Oh,  Rubens !  of  thy  mighty  mind,  and  such 
The  fervour  of  thy  pencil  pouring  wide 
The  still  illumination,  that  the  mind 
Pauses,  absorb'd,  and  scarcely  thinks  what  powers 
Of  mortal  art  the  sweet  enchantment  wrought 
She  sees  the  painter  -with  no  human  touch, 
Create,  embellish,  animate  at  will, 
The  mimic  scenes  from  nature's  ampler  range, 
Caught,  as  by  inspiration,  while  the  clouds, 
High-wand'ring,  and  the  fairest  form  of  things 
Seem  at  his  bidding  to  emerge,  and  burn 
With  radiance,  and  with  life. 

Let  us  subdued 

Now  to  the  magic  of  the  moment,  lose 
The  thoughts  of  life,  and  mingle  every  sense, 
Even  in  the  scenes  before  us. 

The  fresh  morn 

Of  summer  shines ;  the  white  clouds  of  the  east 
Are  crisped ;  beneath  the  bluey  champaign  steams, 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  225 

The  banks,  the  meadows,  and  the  flowers  send  up 
An  increased  exhalation. 

Mark  again  the  various  view — 
Some  city's  far  off  spires,  and  domes  appear, 
Breaking  the  long  horizon  where  the  morn 
Sits  blue  and  soft ;  what  glowing  imagery 
Is  spread  beneath !     Towns,  villages,  light  smoke, 
And  scarce-seen  wind-mill  sails,  and  devious  woods, 
Check'ring  'mid  sunshine  the  grass-level  land, 
That  stretches  from  the  sight. 

Now  nearer  trace 

The  form  of  trees  distinct,  the  broad  brown  oak, 
The  poplars  that  with  silvery  trunks  incline, 
Shading  the  lonely  castle ;  flakes  of  light 
Are  flung  behind  the  massive  groups,  that  now, 
Enlarging  and  enlarging  still,  unfold 
Their  separate  beauties — But  awhile  delay — 
Pass  the  foot-bridge,  and  listen  (for  we  hear, 
Or  think  we  hear  her)  listen  to  the  song 
Of  yonder  milk-maid,  as  she  brims  her  pail, 
Whilst  in  the  yellow  pasture,  pensive  near, 
The  red  cows  ruminate.  • 

"Break  off — break  off,"  for  lo!  where  all  alarm'd 
The  small  birds,  from  their  late  resounding  porch, 
Fly  various,  hush'd  their  early  song ;  and  mark, 
Beneath  the  darkness  of  the  bramble  bank 
That  overhangs  the  half-seen  brook,  where  nod 
The  flow'ring  rushes,  dew-besprent ;  with  breast 
Ruddy,  and  emerald  wing,  the  king-fisher 
Steals  through  the  dripping  sedge  away ;  what  shape 
Of  terror  scares  the  woodland  habitants, 

10* 


226  JOURNAL    OF 


Marring  the  music  of  the  dawn  ?     Look  round 
See,  where  he  creeps  beneath  the  willow  stump, 
Cow'ring,  and  low,  step  silent  after  step, 
The  booted  fowler;  keen  his  look,  and  fixt 
Upon  the  adverse  bank,  while  with  firm  hand 
He  grasps  the  deadly  tube ;  his  dog,  with  ears 
Flung  back,  and  still  and  steady  eye  of  fire, 
Pointa  to  the  prey;  the  boor  intent  moves  on, 
Panting,  and  creeping,  close  beneath  the  leaves, 
And  fears  lest  even  the  rustling  reeds  betray 
His  footfall ;  nearer  yet,  and  yet  more  near 
He  stalks! — Ah,  who  shall  save  the  heedless  group? 
The  speckled  partridges  that  in  the  sun, 
On  yonder  hillock  green,  across  the  stream, 
Bask  unalarm'd  beneath  the  hawthorn  bush, 
"Whose  aged  boughs  the  crawling  blackberry 
Entwines. 

The  country  Kate,  with  shining  morning  cheek, 
(Who  in  the  tumbril  with  her  market  gear 
Sits  seated  high,)  seems  to  expect  the  flash 
Exploding — 

Not  so  the  clown,  who,  heedless  whether  life 
Or  death  betide,  across  the  splashing  ford 
Drives  slow :  the  beasts  plod  on,  foot  follows  foot, 
Aged  and  grave,  with  half-erected  ears, 
As  now  his  whip  above  their  matted  manes 
Hangs  trem'lous,  while  the  dark  and  shallow  stream 
Flashes  beneath  their  fetlock ;  he,  astride 
On  harness  saddle,  not  a  sidelong  look 
Deigns  at  the  breathing  landscape,  or  the  maid 
Smiling  behind  ;  the  cold  and  lifeless  calf 
Her  sole  companion 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  227 

But  lift  the  eye, 

And  hail  th'  abode  of  rural  ease.     The  man 
Walks  forth  from  yonder  antique  hall,  that  looks 
The  mistress  of  the  scene :  its  turrets  gleam 
Amid  the  trees,  and  cheerful  smoke  is  seen 

On  the  balustrade 

Of  the  old  bridge,  that  o'er  the  moat  is  thrown, 
The  fisher  with  his  angle  leans  intent, 
And  turns  from  the  bright  pomp  of  spreading  plains, 
To  watch  the  nimble  fry,  that  glancing  oft, 
Beneath  the  grey  arch  shoot. 

Lo!  where  the  morning  light,  through  the  dark  wood, 
Upon  the  window  pane  is  flung  like  fire. 
Hail  "  Life  and  Hope  1 "  and  thou,  great  work  of  art, 
That  mid  this  populous  and  busy  swarm 
Of  man,  dost  smile  serene,  as  with  the  hues 
Of  fairest,  grandest  nature,  mayst  thou  speak 
Not  vainly  of  th'  endearments  and  best  joys 
That  nature  yields.     The  manliest  head  that  swells 
With  honest  English  feelings, — 
Charm'd  for  a  moment  by  this  mantling  view, 
Its  anxious  tumults  shall  suspend. 

Chiefly  thou, 

Great  Rubens,  shalt  the  willing  senses  lead, 
Enamoured  of  the  varied  imagery, 
That  fills  the  vivid  canvas,  swelling  full 
On  the  enraptured  eye  of  taste,  and  still 
New  charms  unfolding ;  though  minute,  yet  grand, 
Simple,  yet  most  luxuriant— every  light 
And  every  shade  greatly  opposed,  and  all 
Subserving  to  one  magical  effect 
Of  truth  and  harmony. 


228  JOURNAL    OF 


So  glows  the  scene  ; 

And  to  the  pensive  thought  refined  displays 
The  richest  rural  poem. 

AUGUST  7th. — I  find  Orrery's  letters  on  Swift 
very  amusing.  He  is  an  earlier  Boswell,  without  his 
dramatic  power.  The  apprenticeship  of  both  was 
severe.  He  assured  Warburton  that  his  pursuit  of 
the  Dean  had  been  attended  by  numberless  mortifica 
tions.  However,  he  had  his  reward.  The  entire  im 
pression  of  his  letters  was  sold  in  a  single  day ;  and 
Warburton  mentions,  in  his  correspondence  with 
Hurd,  that  the  publisher  had  disposed  of  twelve  thou 
sand  copies.  It  would  be  very  amusing  to  run  over 
the  animadversions  on  these  letters,  written  in  the 
margin  of  the  copy  in  Hartlebury  Library.  The  con 
tinuation  of  Rousseau's  Memoirs  obtained  a  welcome 
of  equal  fervour  in  Paris,  and  faded  from  the  public 
mind  with  equal  rapidity.  "  In  eight  days,"  said  La 
Harpe,  "  all  the  world  had  read  them,  and  in  eight 
days  all  the  world  had  forgotten  them."  Swift's  Ad 
ventures  of  Gulliver  were  out  of  print  in  a  week. 

Occasionally,  but  after  long  intervals  of  neglect, 
the  tide  of  enthusiasm  has  hurried  productions  of 
learning  and  research  into  notice.  The  first  volume 
of  Gibbon's  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  empire 
was  not  to  be  obtained  in  a  few  days  after  its  appear- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  229 

ance ;  the  succeeding  impressions  scattered  it  over 
"  almost  every  toilet."  Yet  to  mark  the  uncertainty 
of  popular  applause,  Hume's  History  of  England, 
which  he  commenced  with  the  most  sanguine  expecta 
tions,  lay  unnoticed  on  the  shelf  of  the  bookseller. 
In  twelve  months,  Millar  sold  only  forty-five  copies. 
Atterbury  expressed  his  "  fixed  opinion"  that  the  re 
putation  of  all  books,  perfectly  well  written,  proceeds 
originally  from  the  few.  The  exquisite  tragedy  of 
Athalie — the  pride  of  the  French  drama — which 
awoke  the  admiration  of  Boileau  and  the  tears  of 
Voltaire, — was  received  with  ridicule  and  contempt. 
The  perusal  of  a  given  number  of  lines  from  it  was  one 
of  the  punishments  inflicted  upon  fashionable  offend 
ers,  in  the  distinguished  circles  of  Paris.  The  most 
excellent  comedy  of  Ben  Jonson  met  with  a  fate 
scarcely  less  discouraging. 

Johnson  entertained  a  more  favourable  opinion  of 
Orrery's  conduct  than  Warburton  has  expressed. 
When  he  was  asked,  whether  he  did  not  regard  it  as 
unjust  to  expose  the  failings  of  one  with  whom  we  may 
have  lived  in  habits  of  intimacy,  his  reply  was, 
"  Why,  no,  sir ;  after  the  man  is  dead ;  for  then  it  is 
done  historically."  Swift  spoke  kindly  of  Orrery  ;  he 
styles  him,  in  a  letter  to  Pope,  a  most  worthy  gentle 
man. 


230  JOURNAL    OF 


AUGUST  8th. — Most  literary  stories  seem  to  be 
shadows,  brighter  or  fainter,  of  others  told  before.  I 
came  upon  an  example  this  morning.  Mr.  Nichols, 
the  intimate  companion  and  correspondent  of  Gray, 
was  not  more  than  nineteen  years  old,  when  a  friend 
procured  for  him  an  introduction  to  the  poet.  Gray, 
pleased  with  his  manner  and  conversation,  invited  him 
to  his  rooms,  and  cultivated  his  acquaintance.  There 
is  something  graphic  in  the  incident  as  related  by 
Mathias.  The  conversation  having  taken  a  classical 
turn,  Nichols  ventured  to  offer  a  remark,  and  to  illus 
trate  it  by  a  quotation  from  Dante.  "  At  the  name  of 
Dante,  Mr.  Gray  suddenly  turned  round  to  him,  and 
said,  '  Right ;  but  have  you  read  Dante,  sir  ? '  'I 
have  endeavoured  to  understand  him,'  was  the  apt 
reply  of  Nichols." 

I  hope  there  is  nothing  apocryphal  in  the  anec 
dote  ;  but  one  strongly  resembling  it  is  related  of 
Dryden.  He  was  seated  in  his  arm-chair  at  Will's, 
indulging  in  some  commendation  of  his  recently  pub 
lished  Mac  Flecknoe ;  he  added  that  he  valued  him 
self  the  more  upon  it,  because  it  was  the  first  piece 
of  ridicule  written  in  heroics.  There  happened  to 
be  listening  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  an  odd-looking 
boy,  with  short,  rough  hair,  who  mustered  up  suffi 
cient  hardihood  to  mutter  that  the  poem  was  a  very 
good  one,  but  that  he  had  not  supposed  it  to  have 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  231 

been  the  first  ever  written  in  that  manner.     Dryden, 
turning   briskly   on   his   critic,   with   a    smile,  said, 
"  Pray,  sir,  what  is  it  that  you  did  imagine  to  have 
been  writ  before  ?  "     "  Boileau's  Lutrin,  and  Tassoni's 
Secchia  Rapita,"  was  the  answer.     Dryden  acknow 
ledged  the  truth  of  the  correction,  and  desired  the 
censor  to  call  upon  him  the  next  day.     The  boy  with 
the   rough  hair  was   Lockier,   afterwards   Dean   of 
Peterborough,  who    continued  to   enjoy   the   poet's 
acquaintance  until  his  death.     Lockier's  Italian  chro 
nology  was  somewhat  at  fault ;  for  Pulci  introduced 
the  burlesque  before  Tassoni.     As  to  Mac  Flecknoe, 
recent  criticism  has  softened  the  censure  of  Johnson. 
In  four  hundred  lines,  Mr.   Hallam  finds  not  one 
weak  or  careless.     It  need  not  be  said  that  Dryden 
is  wanting  in  the  graceful  humour  of  Tassoni,  and  the 
exquisite  polish  of  Boileau.     His  wit  had  more  weight 
than  edge.     It  beat  in  armour,  but  could  not  cut  gauze. 
I  ought  to  ask  forgiveness  of  Boswell,  or  his  shade, 
for   comparing  his    biographical    trials    with   those 
endured   by   Orrery,  in  his   endeavours   to   smooth 
down  the  fretful  Dean.     What  a  dark,  lowering  face 
Onslow   gives   him ; — "  Proud,  insolent,  void  of  all 
decency,  offensive  to  his  friends,  almost  as  much  as 
to  his  enemies ;  hating  all  men,  and  even  human  na 
ture   itself;  wanting  to  be   a  tyrant  to  gratify  his 
ambition  and  disdain   of  the  world."     It  might  be 


232  JOURNAL    OF 


instructive  to  draw  a  parallel  between  Swift  and 
Sterne,  as  reflected  in  Gulliver  and  Tristram.  In 
both  we  should  find  the  same  grotesque  images,  the 
same  explosions  of  laughter,  the  same  vividness  of 
delineation,  the  same  deep,  jagged  gashes  into  human 
nature,  and  the  same  passion  for  all  that  is  degraded 
and  revolting.  Every  disease  of  the  soul  has  a 
clinical  description.  Each  book  of  Swift  is 

A  case  of  skeletons  well  done, 
And  malefactors  every  one. 

Both  possessed  genius ;  but  genius  blasted  with  fire, 
and  exiled  from  the  pure  heaven  of  imagination. 
Sterne  had  one  softening  quality  of  intellect,  un 
shared  by  the  Dean — the  power  of  moving  the  heart. 
Our  conviction  of  the  hypocrisy  of  his  pathos  is  the 
only  check  to  its  tyranny.  Swift  was  the  truer  man, 
as  Sterne  was  the  more  melo-dramatic. 

AUGUST  9th. — A  story  is  told  of  an  ancient 
painter,  who  threw  a  brush  at  a  picture ;  and  another 
of  Reynolds,  who  dipped  it  in  cinder  dust.  Each 
produced  the  effect  he  desired.  Again — Titian  and 
Raffaelle  did  not  employ  costly  colours,  even  in  their 
oil-paintings,  but  chiefly  earths  and  common  colours. 
The  experience  and  practice  of  great  poets  are  the 
same. — The  bright  image,  that  darted  into  the  mind 
like  a  sunbeam ;  or  the  phrase,  so  hazardously  ven- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  233 


tured  on,  and  so  exquisitely  significant,  is  the  pencil 
hurled  at  the  canvas,  or  rubbed  in  the  cinders. 
Simple,  every-day  words,  arc  the  earths  of  the  poet. 
The  pen,  not  the  pigment,  gives  the  life  and  charm. 
Mr.  Harrison,  in  his  interesting  view  of  the  English 
Language,  points  out  the  magnificent  impression,  in 
Milton's  hand,  of  the  single  epithet — 

— all  too  little  seems 
To  stuff  his  maw — this  vast  unhidebound  corpse. 

Death  is  portrayed  as  a  monster,  not  confined  within 
superficies,  and,  therefore,  by  nature  insatiable ;  a 
page  would  only  have  weakened  the  image.  In  poeti 
cal  landscapes,  this  representative  faculty  of  a  few 
syllables  is  very  surprising ;  as  in  the  line  of  Beattie, 

And  lake  dim  gleaming  on  the  smoky  lawn ; 

and  more  vividly  still  in  the  exquisite  verses  of 
Wordsworth : — 

The  grass  is  bright  with  rain-drops, — on  the  moors 
^         The  hare  is  running  races  in  her  mirth, 

And  with  her  feet  she  from  the  plashy  earth 

Raises  a  mist ;  that,  glittering  in  the  sun, 

Runs  with  her  all  the  way,  wherever  she  doth  run. 

In  marine  views,  Crabbe  carried  the  art  to  its 
utmost  boundary:  whether  in  the  sketch  of  the 
oyster-dredger, 


234 


JOURNAL    OF 


— cold  and  wet,  and  driving  with  the  tide ; 

or  of  a  low  muddy  shore, 

And  higher  up  a  ridge  of  all  things  base, 
Which  some  strong  tide  has  roll'd  upon  the  place. 

The  shingle  is  hot  beneath  the  feet,  or  moist  to  the 
hand,  as  we  turn  up  the  wet  shining  stones  to  the  sun. 
The  lazy  tide  rakes  its  way  back  over  the  pebbles ; 
or  the  distant  ship,  the  wind  dying  out  of  her  sails, 
sinks  to  sleep  on  the  sleeping  sea ;  or  the  breeze 
freshens,  and  then  the  waves  begin  to  stir, — 

Their  colours  changing,  when  from  clouds  and  sun 
Shades  after  shades  upon  the  surface  run. 

The  four  following  specimens  present  picture-poet 
ry  in  the  most  pleasing  form : — 


SIGNS  OF  WINTER. 


When  on  the  thorn  the  ripen 
ing  sloe,  yet  blue, 

Takes  the  bright  varnish  of 
the  morning  dew, 

TJie  aged  moss  grows  brittle 
on  the  pale, 

The  dry  boughs  splinter  in 
the  windy  gale. 


BEGINNING  OF  SPRING. 

BLOOMFIELD. 

Stopt  in  her  song,  perchance 

the  starting  thrush 
Shook    a  while   shower  from 

the  black-thorn  bush  ; 
Where   dew-drops    thick    as 

early  blossoms  hung, 
And  trembled  as  the  minstrel 

sweetly  sung. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN   THE    COUNTRY. 


235 


RAIN  ON  A  RIVER. 

KIRKE   WHITE. 

And  list,  the  rain-drops  beat 

the  leaves, 
Or   smoke  upon  the  cottage 

eaves ; 
Or  silent   dimpling    on    the 

stream 
Convert    to    lead    its    silver 

gleam. 


EVENING  SHADOWS. 

COLLINS. 

And  hamlets  brown,  and  dim- 
discovered  spires : 
And  hears  their  simple  bell, 

and  marks  o'er  all 
Thy  dewy  fingers  draw 
The  gradual  dusky  veil. 


Perhaps  the  one  life-giving  stroke  of  genius  will 
be  better  appreciated  after  comparing  a  description 
by  Thomson,  with  one  by  White  :— 


CLOSE  OF  DAT. 

WHITE    OF    SELBORNE. 

When  day,  declining,  sheds  a 

milder  gleam, 
What  time  the  May-fly  haunts 

the  pool  or  stream ; 
When    the    still   owl    skims 

round  the  grassy  mead, 
What  time  the  timorous  hare 

limps  forth  to  feed. 
Then    be   the   time   to   steal 

adown  the  vale, 
And    listen   to   the  vagrant 

cuckoo's  tale ; 


CLOSE  OF  DAY. 


—  sober  evening  takes 
Her   wonted   station   in  the 

middle  air ; 
A  thousand  shadows  at  her 

beck.     First  this 
She  sends  on  earth ;  then  that 

of  deeper  dye 
Steals  soft  behind ;  and  then 

a  deeper  still, 
In     circle    following    circle, 

gathers  round. 
—  A  fresher  gale 


236 


JOURNAL    OF 


Begins  to  wave  the  wood,  and 

stir  the  stream, 
Sweeping  with  shadowy  gust 

the  field  of  corn ; 
While  the  quail  clamours  for 

his  running  mate. 
—  A  faint  erroneous   ray, 
Glanc'd  from    the   imperfect 

surfaces  of  things, 
Flings  half  the  image  on  the 

straining  eye  ; 
While    wavering   woods,   and 

villages,  and  streams, 
And  rocks  and  mountain-tops 

that  long  retain'd 
The  ascending  gleam,  are  all 

one  swimming  scene, 
Uncertain  if  beheld. 


To  hear  the  clamorous  curlew 
call  his  mate, 

Or  the  soft  quail  his  tender 
pain  relate. 

To  mark  the  swift,  in  rapid 
giddy  wing 

Dash  round  the  steeple,  un 
subdued  of  wing. 

While  deep'ning  shades  ob 
scure  the  face  of  day, 

To  yonder  bench,  leaf-shel 
tered,  let  us  stray, 

Till  blended  objects  fail  the 
swimming  sight ; 

And  all  the  fading  landscape 
sinks  in  night. 

To  hear  the  drowsy  dorr 
come  brushing  by 

With  buzzing  wing,  or  the 
shrill  cricket  cry ; 

To  see  the  feeding  bat  glance 
through  the  wood, 

While  o'er  the  cliff  th'  awak- 
en'd  churn-owl  hung, 

Through  the  still  gloom  pro 
tracts  his  chattering  song ; 

When,  high  in  air,  and  poised 
upon  his  wings, 

Unseen,  the  soft  enamoured 
wood-lark  singa. 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  237 

Mark  the  difference  between  the  poet  and  the  natu 
ralist. 

AUGUST  llth. — A  thought  occurs  to  me, — com 
forting,  or  discouraging,  as  the  case  may  be — that  no 
work  of  genius  can  produce  the  same  effect  upon  a 
widely  civilized  and  an  ignorant  age.  Would  any 
poet  now  be  so  out  of  proportion  to  his  contempora 
ries,  as  Chaucer  was  in  England,  or  Dante  in  Italy, 
during  the  1 4th  century?  What  Madonna  of  Raffa- 
elle  awoke  equal  wonder  in  the  people's  mind  with 
the  Madonna  of  Cimabue,  which  all  Florence  followed 
to  its  home  in  the  church  of  the  Dominicans ;  or 
what  later  face  of  the  Virgin  obtained  the  national 
consecration  of  Ugolino's,  and  drew  crowds  as  to  a 
shrine?  Continual  intercourse  with  men,  one  inch 
over  the  average,  soon  takes  off  the  awfulness  of  the 
giant — an  era  of  cleverness  is  the  worst  season  for  a 
grand  intellect — the  descent  of  an  angel  is  most  daz 
zling  through  a  cloud. 

AUGUST  12th. — I  bring  my  journal  to  an  end  with 
the  dying  lights  and  bloom  of  summer-time.  This  is 
one  of  those  soft  lulling  afternoons,  when,  in  Thom 
son's  expressive  line — 

—  his  sweetest  beams 
The  sun  sheds  equal  o'er  the  meeken'd  day. 


238  JOURNAL    OF 


Not  that  the  season  has  really  begun  to  fade.  I  can 
not  yet  say  of  Our  Village :  "  How  beautiful  the  lane 
is  to-day,  decorated  with  a  thousand  colours  !  The 
brown  road  and  the  rich  verdure  that  borders  it, 
strewed  with  the  pale  yellow  leaves  of  the  elm,  just 
beginning  to  fall ;  hedge-rows  glowing  with  long 
wreaths  of  the  bramble  in  every  variety  of  purplish 
red  ;  and  overhead  the  unchanged  green  of  the  fir, 
contrasting  with  the  spotted  sycamore,  the  tawny 
beech,  and  the  dry  leaves  of  the  oak,  which  rustle  as 
the  light  wind  passes  through  them  ;  a  few  common 
hardy  yellow  flowers,  (for  yellow  is  the  common  col 
our  of  flowers,  whether  wild  or  cultivated,  as  blue  is 
the  rare  one ;)  of  many  sorts,  but  almost  of  one  tint, 
still  blowing  in  spite  of  the  season ;  and  ruddy  ber 
ries  glowing  through  all.  How  very  beautiful  is  the 
lane  !"  No  ;  several  days,  or  even  weeks,  must  glide 
away  before  that  picture  will  be  ours.  But  the  gar 
dens  and  wood  begin  to  look  pensive. 

While  I  speak,  the  shadowy  gust  has  shaken  a 
leaf  into  my  hand.  Grone  at  last !  It  lived  through 
the  summer,  and  only  died  this  afternoon.  Some 
leaves  of  the  same  bough  I  found  withered  or  broken 
off  in  the  early  spring,  almost  before  the  light  foot  of 
the  linnet  had  made  it  tremble.  Gradually  unfolding 
their  hidden  verdure  under  the  fostering  rain  and 
sun,  they  looked  lovely  But  a  change  soon  appeared 


SUMMER    TIMB    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  239 

in  their  texture.  The  vivid  hue  waxed  pale  ;  the 
vigour  declined ;  the  delicate  tracery  of  artery  and 
vein,  by  which  the  life-blood  of  the  tree  is  circulated, 
was  wasted  and  defaced ;  the  leaves  shrivelled  up, 
and,  after  fluttering  to  and  fro  upon  the  branch,  were 
drifted  into  the  path  and  trodden  under  foot.  Why 
did  these  leaves  wither  and  die?  An  insect,  minute, 
almost  imperceptible,  had  fastened  upon  them.  Day 
after  day,  hour  after  hour,  it  clung  with  devouring 
appetite,  slowly,  but  surely,  extracting  all  the  life  and 
strength  ;  and  so,  while  their  leafy  kindred  waved  joy 
ously  in  the  breath  of  May,  and  the  balmy  sun  played 
upon  them,  the  work  of  death  was  going  on,  and  the 
leaves  were  falling  from  the  bough. 

And  if  many  of  this  sylvan  family  perish  in  the 
spring,  surely  some  of  the  family  of  man  die  also  ; 
not  in  the  outer  frame-work  of  limb  and  feature,  but 
in  the  precious  inward  life  of  spiritual,  intellectual 
being.  The  fireside  of  English  homes  and  the  foliage 
of  the  wood  give  the  same  warning.,'  Through  the 
slow  developments  of  infancy  and  childhood  the  un 
derstanding  expands  into  verdure,  beneath  the  ripen 
ing  influences  of  affection.  The  eyes  of  the  house 
hold  turn  with  lingering  tenderness  to  the  youngest 
leaf  upon  the  tree.  How  often,  how  soon,  a  change 
is  visible  !  The  sweet  purity  and  freshness  decline  ; 
then  the  circulation  of  the  spiritual  blood  is  impeded. 


240  JOURNAL- OF 


Whence  comes  the  mournful  alteration?  Still  the 
leaf  of  our  woods  is  only  an  image  of  the  leaf  of  our 
affection.  It  was  an  insect  there ;  it  is  an  insect  here. 
Some  reptile  passion,  almost  hidden  from  the  eyes  of 
love,  has  fastened  upon  the  budding  faculties  of  youth, 
and  clings  to  them  day  by  day  with  a  deadly  con 
stancy  of  hunger. 

The  leaves  that  summer  spared,  the  autumn  gales 
will  scatter.  Death  must  reign  in  the  bright,  silent 
woodlands.  But  the  sight  is  beautiful.  The  leaf  is 
not  devoured  by  insects,  or  scorched  by  heat. 

The  maple  burns  itself  away. 

The  tracery  of  the  tree  grows  transparent,  as  if  a 
light  were  shining  through  it.  Doubtless  the  leaves 
rustled  under  the  feet  of  Homer,  in  some  fragrant 
Grecian  wood,  when  he  compared  the  history  of  men 
to  the  blooming  and  death  of  the  bough. 

It  is  a  solemn  spectacle  to  behold  a  Christian 
spirit,  in  the  waning  lustre  of  life,  becoming  lovelier 
every  hour  ;  having  a  sublimer  faith,  a  brighter  hope, 
a  kinder  sympathy,  a  gentler  resignation.  How  could 
Johnson  with  his  treasures  of  wisdom,  virtue,  and 
experience,  give  utterance  to  the  melancholy  com 
plaint  :  "  Thus  pass  my  days  and  nights  in  morbid 
weakness,  in  unseasonable  sleepiness,  in  gloomy  soli 
tude,  with  unwelcome  visitors  or  ungrateful  exclu- 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  241 

sions,  in  variety  of  wretchedness  !"  Not  thus  ought 
the  philosopher  and  saint  to  bid  farewell  to  the  living. 
Rather,  like  the  autumn  leaf,  he  glows  into  decay,  and 
kindles  into  death.  The  sun  of  Paradise,  already 
risen  over  his  soul,  burns  through  the  delicate  fibres 
of  thought,  feeling,  and  desire ;  making  every  word 
and  deed  beautiful  beyond  utterance,  in  the  radiancy 
of  truth,  hope,  and  peace. 

But  in  this  wood  some  leaves  never  brighten ;  they 
wither  and  fall  without  a  tint  of  beauty.  Wonderful 
prophet  of  Chios  !  In  thy  blindness  full  of  visions  ! 
The  leaf  that  I  hold  in  my  hand  is  still  the  emblem 
of  my  nature  and  race.  Life  has  its  shrivelled 
branches.  What  a  picture  Gray  draws  of  one  of 
these  leaves — yellow,  but  not  reddening — dropping 
from  the  tree  with  no  flush  of  light  or  colour  to  cheer 
it !  "I  have  now  every  day  before  my  eyes  a  woman 
of  ninety,  my  aunt,  who  has  for  many  years  been 
gradually  turning  into  chalk-stones.  They  are  mak 
ing  their  way  out  of  both  feet,  and  the  surgeon  comes 
twice  a  day  to  increase  the  torture.  She  is  just  as 
sensible  and  as  impatient  of  pain  as  she  ever  was  sixty 
years  go."  No  flame  of  the  leaf  is  here,  but  a  cold  win 
try  parching  up  of  verdure  and  health.  How  different 
from  the  spectacle  that  sometimes  charms  and  awes 
us ;  when  the  natural  harshness  of  the  tree  has  been 
11 


242  JOURNAL    OF 


gradually  worn  out  by  the  painful  husbandry  of  suffer 
ing,  and  the  root  of  selfishness  yields  the  fruit  of  love. 

This  leaf  says  to  me  something  more.  Its  use 
fulness  does  not  end  with  its  life.  When  I  cast  it  on 
the  ground,  it  will  not  be  lost.  It  enriches  the  soil. 
Autumn  feeds  spring.  The  withered  leaves  help  to 
bring  forth  the  green.  Here  is  my  admonition.  Min 
utes  are  the  leaves  of  life.  The  decay  of  one  year  is 
the  foliage  of  the  next.  I  have  been  deeply  impressed 
^&z  by  a  late  writer's  sublime  parable  of  a  man  shut  up  in 
a  fortress,  under  sentence  of  perpetual  imprisonment, 
and  obliged  to  draw  water  from  a  reservoir  which  he 
may  not  see,  but  into  which  no  fresh  stream  is  ever  to 
be  poured.  How  much  it  contains  he  cannot  tell.  He 
knows  the  quantity  is  not  great ;  it  may  be  extremely 
small.  His  imprisonment  having  been  long,  he  has 
already  drawn  out  a  considerable  supply.  The  dimi 
nution  increases  daily ;  and  how,  it  is  asked,  "  would 
he  feel  each  time  of  drawing  and  each  time  of  drink 
ing  it  ?"  Not  as  if  he  had  a  perennial  spring  to  go 
to ;  "I  have  a  reservoir,  I  may  be  at  ease."  No ;  " I 
had  water  yesterday,  I  have  water  to-day;  but  my 
having  had  it  yesterday  and  my  having  it  to-day,  is 
the  very  cause  that  I  shall  not  have  it  on  some  day 
that  is  approaching." 

Surely  this  is  a  beautiful  image,  and  true  as  beau 
tiful.     It  is  no  violent  metaphor  to  represent  life  as  a 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  243 

fortress,  and  man  a  prisoner  within  its  gate.  Time  is 
the  dark  Reservoir  from  which  he  drinks;  but  he 
cannot  descend  to  examine  its  depth  or  its  quantity. 
He  draws  his  supply  from  a  fountain  fed  by  invisible 
pipes.  Nay,  we  do  not  often  see  the  fountain.  We 
conceal  it  with  thick  trees ;  we  strive  to  hide  Time. 
Still,  if  we  would  linger  by  it  for  a  moment,  we  might 
discover  the  various  flow  of  the  water  at  different  sea 
sons  of  the  human  year.  In  spring  and  summer — 
our  childhood  and  early  youth — the  sunshine  of  hope 
silvers  every  drop ;  and  if  we  look  into  the  stream, 
the  voice  of  some  fair  spirit  might  almost  be  heard 
speaking  to  us  from  the  crystal  shrine.  In  autumn 
and  winter  days — our  mature  manhood  and  old  age — 
the  fountain  pours  a  languider  and  darker  current. 
But  the  thing  to  be  remembered,  in  spring,  summer, 
autumn,  and  winter,  is,  that  the  Reservoir  which  feeds 
the  fountain  is  being  exhausted.  Every  drop  that 
fell  in  our  sunniest  days  lessened  the  water  that  re 
mains.  We  had  life  yesterday,  and  we  have  life  to 
day  ;  the  probability,  the  certainty  is,  that  we  shall 
not  have  it  on  some  day  that  is  approaching.  It 
strikes  a  chill  to  the  heart  to  think,  that  the  Reser 
voir  may  not  contain  enough  to  supply  the  prisoner 
in  life's  dungeon  for  another  week. 

But  the  shadow  passes  from  the  dial ;  the  evening 
glimmers  away  into  the  thick  trees : — 


244  JOURNAL    OF 


—  Ah !  slowly  sink 

Behind  the  western  ridge,  thou  glorious  sun ! 
Shine  in  the  slantrbeams  of  the  sinking  orb, 

Ye  purple  heath-flowers !  richlier  burn,  ye  clouds ! 
live  in  the  yellow  light,  ye  distant  groves. 

—  I  stand 

Silent  with  swimming  sense,  yea,  gazing  round 
On  the  wide  landscape,  gaze  till  all  doth  seem 
Less  gross  than  bodily ;  and  of  such  hues 
As  veil  the  Almighty  Spirit,  when  He  makes 
Spirits  perceive  His  presence. 

—  a  delight 
Comes  sudden  on  my  heart,  and  I  am  glad. 

—  in  this  bower, 

This  little  lime-tree  bower,  have  I  not  marked 

Much  that  has  soothed  me  ?    Pale,  beneath  the  blaze, 

Hung  the  transparent  foliage ;  and  I  watch'd 

Some  broad  and  sunny  leaf,  and  loved  to  see 

The  shadow  of  the  leaf  and  stem  above 

Dappling  its  sunshine !  and  that  walnut  tree 

Was  richly  tinged,  and  a  deep  radiance  lay 

Full  on  the  ancient  ivy,  which  usurps 

Those  fronting  elms,  and  now,  with  blackest  mass, 

Makes  their  dark  branches  gleam  a  lighter  hue 

Through  the  late  twilight ;  and  though  now  the  bat 

Wheels  silent  by,  and  not  a  swallow  twitters, 

Yet  still  the  solitary  humble  bee 

Sings  in  the  night-flower.     Henceforth  I  shall  know 

That  Nature  ne'er  deserts  the  wise  andjDure ; 

No  plot  so  narrow,  be  but  Nature  there, 

No  waste  so  vacant,  but  may  well  employ 


SUMMER    TIME    IN    THE    COUNTRY.  245 

Each  faculty  of  sense,  and  keep  the  heart 
Awake  to  Love  and  Beauty. 

Then,  welcome  autumn,  and  golden  sheaves,  and  har 
vest-home  !  "  Do  not  talk  of  the  decay  of  the  year ; 
the  season  is  good  when  the  people  are  so.  It  is  the 
best  time  of  year  for  a  painter."  So  wrote  Pope. 
And  if  for  a  picture,  surely  for  a  life.  The  leaf  that 
drops  dim  and  flaccid  from  my  hand  has  not  been 
gathered  up  in  vain.  It  reminds  me  of  the  greener 
country:  where  the  leaves  never  fall,  and  the  eternal 
day  is  Summer  Time._ 


THE   END. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


Enlightened  and  Pleasurable  Reading  for  all  Classes  of  People. 


APPLETONS' 
POPULAR  LIBRARY  OF  THE  BEST  AUTHORS. 

MESSRS.  APPLETON  announce  to  the  Public  the  issue  ol 
a  new  series  of  books,  attractive  in  form,  and  of  permanent 
value  and  entertainment,  intended,  in  subject  and  convenience 
for  the  widest  popular  circulation. 

They  will  be  cheap  in  price,  some  twenty-five  per  cent  less 
than  books  of  their  class  and  elegant  execution  have  been  gener 
ally  published  at ;  but,  it  is  to  be  understood,  that  while  a  desira 
ble  cheapness  will  be  preserved,  it  will  not  be  at  the  expense 
of  the  reader,  and  of  his  enjoyment  of  good  taste  and  fine 
paper,  clear  type,  and  accurate  proof-reading.  The  price  will 
be  graduated  to  the  size  of  the  book  (not  cutting  down  the 
book  to  the  price),  and  when  it  is  desirable  to  reprint  a  lesa 
known  work,  to  a  just  remuneration  for  the  edition.  The  de 
sign  is  to  establish  a  permanent  classical  series  of  the  best  liter 
ature  in  each  department. 

It  is  the  aim  of  the  Popular  Library  to  furnish  books  of 
various  kinds,  and  the  best  of  each,  of  an  entertaining  and 
profitable  character  for  general  reading ,  to  supply  for  the  de 
light  of  all  the  most  agreeable  and  suggestive  authors  in  narra 
tive,  adventure,  invention,  poetry,  sentiment,  wit,  and  humor. 

Books  will  be  presented,  which,  in  the  words  of  a  great 
author,  "  quicken  the  intelligence  of  youth,  delight  age,  deco 
rate  prosperity,  shelter  and  solace  us  in  adversity,  bring  en 
joyment  at  home,  befriend  us  out  of  doors,  pass  the  night  with 
us,  travel  with  us,  go  into  the  country  with  us." 

The  earl  est  issues  of  this  series  will  comprise  complete  and 
Independent  works  bv  the  following  among  other  authors-  • 


li  ADVERTISEMENTS. 


THACKERAY  (the  author  of  "Vanity  Fair"),  the  late  ROBERT 
SOUTHEY,  Jony  FORSTER,  SIR  HUMPHREY  DAVY,  JOHN  WILSON 
("Christopher  North"  of  Blackwood),  WALTER  SAVAGE  LANDOR, 
the  "Writers  for  the  LONDON  TIMES,  the  leading  QUAETERLT 
REVIEWS,  LEIGH  HUNT,  the  late  WILLIAM  HAZLITT,  the  author* 
of  the  "Rejected  Addresses,"  BARHAM  (author  of  the  "In- 
goldsby  Legends"),  SIR  FRANCIS  HEAD,  JAMES  MONTGOMERY,  <fcc., 
Ac.,  comprising  generally  the  most  brilliant  authors  of  the 
Nineteenth  Century. 

APPLETONS'  POPULAR  LIBRARY  will  be  printed  uniformly  in 
a  very  elegant  and  convenient  16mo.  form,  in  volumes  of  from, 
250  to  400  pages  each,  from  new  type  and  on  superior  paper, 
and  will  be  bound  in  a  novel  and  attractive  style  for  preserva 
tion,  in  fancy  cloth,  and  will  be  sold  at  the  average  price  of 
fifty  cents  per  volume. 

The  following  books,  indicating  the  variety  of  the  series, 
are  preparing  for  immediate  publication;  and  orders  of  the 
Trade  are  solicited: — 

ESSAYS:  A  SERIES  OF  PERSONAL  AND  HISTORICAL 
SKETCHES  FROM  THE  LONDON  TIMES. 

LIFE  AND  MISCELLANIES  OF  THEODORE  HOOK. 

JOHN  FORSTER'S  LIFE  OF  GOLDSMITH. 

THE  YELLOWPLUSH  PAPERS  AND  OTHER  VOLUMES, 
BY  WILLIAM  M.  THACKERAY,  AUTHOR  OF  "VAN 
ITY  FAIR." 

JEREMY  TAYLOR;  A  BIOGRAPHY,  BY  ROBERT  ARB 
WHJLMOTT. 

LEIGH  HUNT'S  BOOK  FOR  A  CORNER. 

THE  MISCELLANEOUS  WRITINGS  OF  JAMES  AND 
HORACE  SMITH,  THE  AUTHORS  OF  THE  "RE 
JECTED  ADDRESSES." 

THE  INGOLDSBY  LEGENDS,  BY  BARHAM. 

LITTLE  PEDUNGTON   AND  THE   PEDIINGTONIANS 
BY  JOHN  POOLE,  AUTHOR  OF  "PAUL  PRY." 
Ac.,  Ac.,  Ac 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


APPLETONS'  POPULAR  LIBRARY. 


THE  MAIDEN  AND  MARRIED  LIFE  OF 
MARY  POWELL, 

AFTERWARDS    MISTRESS    MILTON. 
Price  Fifty  Cents 

"A  reproduction  "In  their  manners  as  they  lived"  of  John  Milton  and 
his  young  bride,  of  whom  the  anecdote  of  their  separation  and  reconcilia 
tion  is  told  in  Dr.  Johnson's  biography  of  the  poet  The  narrative  is  In  the 
style  of  the  period  as  the  Diary  of  Lady  Willoughby  is  written,  and  is  re 
markable  for  its  feminine  grace  and  character — and  the  interest  of  real  life 
artistically  disposed:  a  book  for  the  selected  shelf  of  the  lady's  boudoir  in 
its  touches  of  nature  and  sentiment  no  less  than  as  a  study  of  one  of  Eng 
land's  greatest  poets  "  at  home." 

ENGLISH  NOTICES. 

"This  is  a  charming  book ;  and  whether  we  regard  its  subject,  clever 
ness  or  delicacy  of  sentiment  and  expression,  it  is  likely  to  be  a  most  ac 
ceptable  present  to  young  or  old,  be  their  peculiar  taste  for  religion,  morals, 
>oetry,  history,  or  romance." — Christian  Observer. 

'•  Unquestionably  the  production  of  an  able  hand,  and  a  refined  mind. 
We  recommend  it  to  all  who  love  pure,  healthy  literary  fare." — Church 
and  State  Gazette. 

"  Full  of  incident  and  character,  and  exceedingly  delightful  in  its  happy 
iketching  and  freshness  of  feeling.  It  is  by  far  the  best  work  of  the  small 
»nd  novel  class  to  which  it  belongs,  a  mixture  of  truth  and  fiction  in  a  form 
which  belongs  to  the  fictitious  more  than  to  the  substantial  contents." — 
Nonconformist. 

"The  odd  history  of  Milton's  first  marriage— the  desertion  of  his  wife, 
and  her  subsequent  terror  when  she  heard  that  he  was  just  the  man  to  put 
in  practice  his  own  opinions  respecting  divorce — forms  one  of  those  chap 
ters,  peculiarly  open  to  illusfration  and  fancy."—  AUat. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


APPLETONS'  POPULAR  LIBRARY. 
THE    PARIS    SKETCH    BOOK. 

BT   W.   M.   THACKERAY. 
Two  Volumes.     Price  Fifty  Cents  each. 

<£onteitis  of  Vol.  5. 

AN  INVASION  OF  FRANCE. 

A  CAUTION  TO  TRAVELLERS. 

THE  FETES  OF  JULY. 

ON  THE  FRENCH  SCHOOL  OF  PAINTING. 

THE  PAINTER'S  BARGAIN. 

CARTOUCHE. 

ON  SOME  FRENCH  FASHIONABLE  NOVELS. 

A  GAMBLER'S  DEATH. 

NAPOLEON  AND  HIS  SYSTEM. 
THE  STORY  OF  MARY  ANOEL. 
BEATRICE  MERGER. 

Conttnis  of  Vol.  II. 

CARICATURES  AND  LITHOGRAPHY   IN   PARIS. 

LITTLE  POINSINET. 

THE   DEVIL'S   WAGER. 

MADAME  SAND  AND  THE  NEW  APOCALYPSE. 

THE   CASE   OF  PEYTEL. 

IMITATIONS   OF   BERANGER. 

FRENCH   DRAMAS   AND   MELODRAMAS. 

MEDITATIONS    AT   VERSAILLES. 

The  papers  of  which  these  volumes  consist  are  in  number  nineteen, 
and  in  character  very  miscellaneous.  In  most  of  them  wit  and  humor  are 
the  prevailing  features,  but  all  of  them  display  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridlcn- 
Ions  and  a  hostility  to  humbug,  a  penetrating  insight  into  the  wheels  by 
which  men  and  the  mixed  world  around  the  author  are  moved,  and  a 
thorough  dislike  to  the  foibles  and  vices  he  hesitates  not  to  lash  and  ex- 
pose. — London  Literary  Gazette. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


APPLETOHS'  POPTJLAE  LIBRARY. 

ESSAYS  FROM  THE  LONDON  TIMES. 

Price  Fifty  Cents. 
Containing  the  following  Papers : 

LORD  NELSON  AND   LADY  HAMILTON. 

BAILWAY  NOVELS. 

LOUIS   PHILIPPE   AND  HIS   FAMILY. 

DRAMA   OF  THE   FBENOH  REVOLUTION. 

HOWARD  THE  PHILANTHROPIST. 

ROBERT   8OUTHEY. 

THE   AMOURS   OF   DEAN   SWIFT. 

REMINISCENCES  OF  COLERIDGE  AND  SOUTHEY  BY  OOTTLE. 

JOHN   KEATS. 

8POBTING  IN  AFRICA. 

FRANCIS   CHANTBEY. 

ANCIENT  EGYPT. 

Brilliant  original  Essays,  frequently  displaying  the  neat  humor  of  a 
Sydney  Smith,  the  glowing  narrative  sweep  of  a  Macanlay.  These  Essays 
exhibit  a  variety  of  treatment,  and  we  models  of  their  class.  The  sketch 
of  the  French  Revolution  of  1S43,  and  the  paper  on  the  Amours  of  Dean 
Swift,  are  masterpieces  hi  their  different  ways ;  the  one  as  a  forcibly  painted 
picturesque  panorama  of  startling  events,  the  other  as  a  subtle  investigation 
of  character.  The  story  of  Lord  Nelson's  Lady  Hamilton  is  an  example  of 
pathos,  where  the  interest  grows  out  of  a  clear,  firmly  presented  statement 
The  paper  on  Egypt  is  an  admirable  resum6  of  the  results  of  Antiquarian 
•tudy  in  a  style  at  one*  learned  and  popular. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


APPLETONS1  POPULAR  LIBEAEY. 


THE    YELLOWPLUSH    PAPERS. 

BY   W.   M.   THACKERAY. 
Price  Fifty  Cents. 

Contents. 

MISS  sntr&i's  HUSBAND. 

THE  AMOUBS  OF  ME.  DEUCEACE. 

SKIMMINGS  FEOM  "THE  DAIEY  OF  GEOBGE  IV.W 

FOEING  PAETS. 

ME.  DEUCEACE  AT  PAEIS. 

ME.  YELLOWPLUSH'S  AJEW. 

EPISTLES  TO  THE  LITEEATI. 

The  Tellowplnsh  Papers,  a  work  at  the  foundation  of  Mr.  ThacKeray  s 
fame  as  a  writer,  appeared  in  a  London  edition  in  1841,  collected  from  the 
pages  of  Fraser's  Magazine.  An  imperfect  collection,  long  since  out  of 
print,  had  previously  been  published  in  Philadelphia. 

It  is  now  revived,  in  connection  with  a  number  of  the  author's  miscel 
laneous  Writings,  which  will  appear  in  due  succession,  for  its  speciality  of 
thought  and  character,  and  its  exhibition  of  those  fruitful  germs  of  senti 
ment  and  observation  which  have  expanded  Into  the  pictures  of  modern 
society,  read  throughout  the  world,  in  the  pages  of  "Vanity  Fair"  and 
"Pendennis."  In  its  peculiar  line  the  Tellowplnsh  Papers  have  never 
been  surpassed.  The  character  is  well  preserved  and  unique  as  the  spell 
ing,  which  shows  that  there  is  a  genius  even  for  cacography,  and  a  senti 
ment  as  well  as  a  hearty  laugh  in  a  wrong  combination  of  letters.  It  is  im 
possible  to  resist  the  infelicity  of  Mr.  Yellowplush.  His  humor,  too,  is  a 
pretty  serious  test  of  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  profit,  as  well  a?  amuse 
ment,  may  be  got  from  his  epistles,  justifying  the  remark  of  an  English 
critic,  that  "notwithstanding  the  bad  spelling  and  mustard-colored  un 
mentionables  of  Mr.  Yellowplush,  he  is  fifty  times  more  of  a  gentleman 
than  most  of  his  masters." 


D.  Appleton  &  Company  s  Publication*. 

RELIGIOUS. 

ARNOLD'S  Rugby  School  Sermons.    16mo.    60  cents. 
ANTHON'S  Catechism  on  the  Homilies.     18mo.    6  cents. 

Early  Catechism  for  Young  Children.    ISiuo.    6  cents, 

A  KEMPIS,  Of  the  Imita  ion  of  Christ.  16mo.   Complete  Edition.  75  ctok 
BURNETT'S   History  of  the  Reformation.     Edited  by  Dr.  Narea.     I 

.      Tola.    $250. 

On  the  Thirty-nine  Articles.    Edited  by  Page.    8vo.    $2. 

BEADLEY'S  Family  and  Parish  Sermons.    Complete  in  1  voL    $2. 

OR U DEN'S  Concordance  to  the  New  Testament    12mo.    60  cents. 

COTTER.    The  Romish  Mass  and  Rubrics.    Translated.    18mo.   88  eta. 

CO1T,  Dr.    Puritanism  Eeviewed.    12mo.    $1. 

EVANS'  Rectory  of  Valehead.    16mo.    60  cents. 

LIGHT  IN  THE  DWELLING.    (A  Practical  Family  Commentary  on  tha 

Four  Gospels.)    By  the  author  .  f  "  Peep  of  Day."    Edited  by  Dr.  Tyng.    Illustrated. 

8vo.    Cloth,  *-2 ;  gut  edge*,  $-2  50 ;  iin.  morocco,  *3  50 ;  morocco,  $4  SO. 
GRESLEY'S  Portrait  ot  an  English  Churchman.    60  cents. 

Treatise  en  Preaching.    12mo.    $1  25. 

GRIFFIN,  G.    The  Gospel  its  own  Advocate.    12ino.    $1. 
HOOKER'S  Complete  Works.    Edited  by  Keble.    2  vols.    $4  50. 
IVES'  ylii>h«p)  Sermors.    16mo.    50  cents. 
'£?  liai'pluees;  its  Nature  and  Sources. 

.  i  .!y  to  Milker's  Kad  of  Controversy.    12mo.    75  cents. 

J  Choir.    75  cents. 

KIP'S  Early  Conflicts  of  Christianity.     12mo.    75  cents. 
LYRA  APOSTOLICA.    liuio.    60  cents. 

MARSHALL'S  Notes  on  Episcopacy.    Edited  by  Wainwright   12ma  $t 
MANNING  on  the  Unity  of  the  Church.    16mo.    75  cents. 
MAURICE  on  the  Kingdom  of  Christ.    8vo.    $2  50. 
MAGEE  on  Atonement  and  Sacrifice.    2  vols.,  8vo.    $5. 
NEWMAN'S  Sermons  on  Subjects  of  the  Day.    12mo.    $1. 

Essay  on  Christian  Doctrine.    8vo.    Cloth,  75  cents. 

OGILBY  on  Lay  Baptism.    12mo.    50  cents. 

PEARSON  on  the  Creed.    Edited  by  Dobson.    Best  Edition.    8vo.     $2. 

PULPIT  CYCLOPAEDIA  AND  MINISTER'S  COMPANION.     8vo. 

600  pages.     (2  50. 

I'SALTER  (The),  or  Psalms  of  David.    Pointed  for  Chanting.    Edited  b; 

Dr.  Muhlenberg.     1'imo.     Sheep,  50  cent*  ;  half  cloth,  38  cents. 

SEW  ELL.     Readings  for  Every  Day  in  Lent    12mo.    Cloth,  75  cents. 
SOUTHARD.    "  The  Mvsteries  of  Godliness."    8vo.    75  centa. 
SKETCHES  AND  SKELETONS  OF  500  SERMONS.     By  the  Author  « 

"The  Pulpit  Cyclopasdia."    8vo.    $250. 
SPENCER'S  Christian  Instructed.    16mo.    $1. 
SHERLOCK'S  Practical  Christian.    16mo.    T5  cents. 
SPINCKE'S  Manual  of  Private  Devotion.    16mo.    75  cents. 
BUTTON'S  Disce  Vivere,  Learn  to  Liva    16mo.    75  cents. 
SWARTZ'S  Letters  to  My  Godchild.    82mo.    Gilt  edge,  88  cents. 
TRENCH'S  Notes  on  the  Parables.    8vo.    $175. 

Notes  on  the  Miracles  of  our  Lord.    8vo.    $1  75. 

TAYLOR'S  Holy  Living  and  Dying.     12mo.     $1. 

Episcopacy  Asserted  and  Maintained.    16mo. 

WATSON'S  Lecture  on  Confirmation.     18mo.    Paper,  6  cents. 
WILBERFORCE'S  Manual  for  Communicants.    82ino.    Gilt  edges,  38  ct» 
WILSON'S  Lectures  on  Colossians.     12mo.    75  cents. 

Sacra  Privata.     Complete  Edition.    16mo.    75  cents. 

Sacra  Privata.    4Sino.    Cloth,  87  cents ;  roan,  50  cents. 

VVlllSTON'S  Constitution  of  the  Holy  Apostles,  including  the  Canon* 

1  (-unstated  by  l)r.  Clias^.     8vo.     li  50. 

W  Y  ATT's  Christian  Altar.    Now  Edition.    82mo.    Cloth,  gilt  edges,  38  ct«. 
5 


A.  jUppCeton  &  Cotnpany'ii  Publications. 

SCIENTIFIC  WOBKS. 

APPLETON.    Dictionary  of  Mechanics,  Machines,  Engine  Work,  an« 

Engineering,  containing  over  4000  Illustrations,  ftnd  nearly  '2UOO  pagc«.     Complete  in  i 
Volt.,  large  8vo.    Strongly  and  neatly  bound,  $1-2. 

APPLETON.    Mechanics'  Magazine  and  Engineers'  Journal.    Edited  by 

Julius  W.  Adams,  C.  E.     Published  monthly,  25  cents  per  No.,  or  $3  p*-r  annum.     Vol.  I 
for  1851,  in  cloth,  $3  50. 

ARCHITECTURE  AND  BUILDING,  Treatises  on.    By  Ilosking,  Tred- 

good,  and  Voung.     Illustrated  with  36  steel  plates.     4to.     f  3  50. 

ALLEN,  Z.    Philosophy  of  the  Mechanics  of  Nature.    Illus.    6vo.    $8  50 
ARNOT,  D.  H.    Gothic  Architecture,  Applied  to  Modern  Resddenr-jb.    4« 

Platen.    !VoI.,4to.    $4. 

AETISAN  CLUB.    Treatise  on  the  Steam  Engine.    Edited  by  J.  Rourne. 

33  Plates,  and  349  Engravings  on  wood.    4to.     $6. 

BOURNE,  JOHN.    A  Catechism  of  the  Steam  Engine.    16mo.    Wots. 
BYKNE,  O.    New  Method  of  Calculating  Logarithms.    12mo.    $1. 
BOUISSINGAULT,  J.  B.    Kural  Economy  in  its  Relations  with  Cbemi*- 

try.  Physics,  and  Meteorology.     l-2mo.    *1  -25. 

CULLUM,  CAPT.    On  Military  Bridges  with  India  Rubber  Pontoons, 

lUuou-uted.     bvo.    »«. 

DOWNING,  A.  I.    Architecture  of  Country  Houses.     Including  Designs 

for  Cottages,  Farm  HOOKS,  aivd  Villas;  with  Kemiirki  on  Intcriuni,  Furniture,  and  t!>« 
be«t  modef  of  Warming  and  Ventilating ;  with  310  Illintrations.     I  Vol.,  8vo.     *4. 

-Architecture  of  I'ottaecs  and  Farm  Houses.    Being  th* 


first  part  of  his  work" on  Country  H.. 
desire  to  build  cheap  Houses.    Svo.    $ 2. 

GRIFFITHS,  JOHN  W.    Treatise  on  Marine  and  Naval  Architecture;  or, 
Theory  and  Practice  Blended  in  Ship-Building.    50  Plates.    ? in. 

HALLECKS.    Military  Art  and  Science.     12mo.    $1  50. 

HAUPT,  H.    Theory  of  Bridge  Construction.    With  Practical  Illustra 
tions.    8ro.    *3. 

HOBLYN,  R.  D.     A  Dictionary  of  Scientific  Terms.    12mo.     $150. 

HODGE,  P.  R,    On  the  Steam  Engine.    48  large  Plates,  folio ;  and  letter 
press,  8vo.  size.    $8. 

JEFFERS.    Theory  and  Practice  of  Naval  Gunnery.    Svo.     Illus.    $250 

KNAPEN.  D.  M.    Mechanic's  Assistant,  adapted  for  the  use  of  Carpenters, 

Lumbermen,  and  Artisans  generally.     l-2n>».     $1. 

LAFEVER,  M.  Beauties  of  Modern  Architecture.  48  Plates,  large  Svo.  $4 
LIEBIG,  JUSTUS.    Familiar  Letters  on  Chemistry.    18mo.    25  cents. 
OVERMAN,  F.    Metallurgy ;  embracing  Elements  of  Mining  Operations. 

AnalyzHtion  of  Ores,  Ac.    8vo.    Illustrated. 
PARNELL,  E.  A.    Chemistry  Applied  to  the  Arts  and  Manufacture* 

Illustrated.    Svo.    Cloth,  $1. 

REYNOLDS,  L.  E.    Treatise  on  Handrailing.    Twenty  Plates.    Svo.     $2 
SYDNEY,  J.  C.     Villa  and  Cottase  Architecture.     Comprising  Residence* 

actually  built.     Publishing  in  Ni.a.,  each   No.  containing  3  Plut.-s,  with  Urouml   I'lnn 
price  5U  cents.     (To  be  completed  in  10  N"S.)  1  to  6  ready. 

TEMPLETON,  W.    Mechanic,  Millwright,  and  Engineers'  Pocket  Com 

URE,  DR.     Die  ionary  of  Arts,  Manufactures,  and  Mines.    New  Edition 
with  Supplement.    Svo.    Sheep,  *5. 

Supplement  to  do.,  separate.    Svo.     Sheep,  $1. 

FOUMAN,  E.  L.     Class-book  of  Chemistry.     12mo.     T5  cents. 

Chart  of  Cht  mistry,  on  Holler.     $o. 

9. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


APPLETONS'  POPULAR  LIBRAEY. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  A  JOURNEY  THROUGH 

TARTARY,  THIBET,  AND  CHINA,  DURING 

THE  YEARS  1844,  1845,  AND  1846. 

BY  M.  HUC,  MISSIONARY  PRIEST  OF  THE  CONGREGATION 
OF    ST.  LAZARUS. 

A  CONDENSED  TRANSLATION  BY  MBS.   PEECY  SnTNETT. 

Two  Volumes,  I6mo.,  Fancy  Cloth.   Price  Fifty  Cents  each. 

This  narrative,  related  with  great  Interest  and  simplicity — adding  to  our 
original  stores  of  information  with  the  piquancy  of  an  Arabian  Tale — is  tha 
story  of  a  long  journey  and  circuit  of  Chinese  Tartary  to  the  capital  of  Thi 
bet,  with  a  forced  return  to  the  Chinese  Territory,  performed  by  a  Roman 
Catholic  Missionary,  and  his  assistant  M.  Gabet,  delegated,  upon  the  break 
ing  up  of  the  Pekin  Mission,  to  the  exploration  of  what  is  rather  hypotheti 
sally  called  the  Apostolical  Vicariat  of  Mongolia,  On  their  route  every 
where  is  novelty,  danger  and  excitement— fresh  scenery,  fresh  adventure, 
with  religious  rites  and  manners  and  customs,  now  for  the  first  time  so  rally 
described,  and  which,  it  may  be  remarked,  at  times  appeal  net  merely  to 
our  love  of  intelligence,  but  to  our  love  of  the  marvellous. 

The  English  Review  speaks  of  "  M.  Hue's  graphic  pages"  and  remarks, 
"  the  labours  of  Messrp,  Hue  and  Gabet  have  extended  very  considerably 
the  existing  amount  of  knowledge  of  those  remote  regions  of  inner  Asia." 

BlackwoocTs  Magazine,  summing  up  the  results  of  those  and  other  re 
searches  in  an  article  "  Tibet  and  the  Lamas,"  says  of  these  missionaries — 
"they  have  given  us  a  most  readable  and  interesting  personal  narrative  of  » 
life  of  continued  hardships,  and  of  frequent  suffering  and  danger  in  remote 
it  srtons,  the  routes  through  which  were  partly  never  before  recorded  in  de 
tail,  and  partly  never  before  trodden  by  any  European." 

The  London  Daily  Hews  pronounces  M.  Hue  "  a  most  agreeable  narra- 
toi.  "We  give  our  readers  a  specimen  of  this  really  charming  book,  though 
It  is  one  which  most  of  our  readers  will  be  sure  to  purchase  and  treasure  up 
tor  themselves.  We  could  fill  columns  with  amusing  extracts,  but  it  is  best 
to  send  our  readers  to  the  book  itself. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


APPLETONS'  POPTTLAB  LIBRARY. 
GAIETIES    AND    GRAVITIES. 

DT    HORACE     SMITH,    ONE     OF    THE    AUTHORS     OF    THB 
"  REJECTED    ADDRESSES." 

Price  Fifty  Cents. 


ADDRESS   TO   THE   MUMMY   A7   BELZONfs   EXHIBITION. 

WINTER. 

ON   PUNS   AND   PUNSTERS. 

MT  TEA-KETTLE. 

THE   WIDOW   OF  THE   GREAT   ARMY. 

ON   NOSES. 

WALKS  IN  THE  GARDEN. 

CORONATION  EXTRAORDINARY. 

THE  ORANGE  TREE  AT  VERSAILLES. 

ON  LIPS  AND  KISSING. 

TO  A  LOG  OF  WOOD  UPON  THE  FIRE. 

MISS    HEBE    HIGGINS'S  ACCOUNT   OF  A   LITERARY   SOCIETY  —  TM 

HOUNDSDITCH  ALBUM. 
ANTE  AND  POST  NUPTIAL  JOURNAL. 
THE  LIBRARY. 
UGLY  WOMEN. 
THE  WORLD. 
THE  FIRST  OF  MARCH. 
THE  ELOQUENCE  OF  EYES. 
ADDRESS  TO  THE  ALABASTER  SARCOPHAGUS  DEPOSITED  IN  THE  BKIl 

ISH  MUSEUM. 

MEMOIRS  OF  A  HAUNCH  OF  MUTTON. 

BEGGARS  EXTRAORDINARY!  PROPOSALS  FOR  THEIR  SUPPRESSION. 
STANZAS  TO  PUNCHINELLO. 
LETTERS  TO  THE  ROYAL  LITERARY  SOCIETY. 
A  LAMENTATION  OX  THE  DECLINE  OF  BARBERS. 
CHANCES  OF  FEMALE  HAPPINESS. 
THE  STEAMBOAT  FROM  LONDON  TO  CALAIS. 
MEMNON'S  HEAD. 
WOMEN  VINDICATED. 
t-ORTRAIT  OF  A  SEPTUAGENARY. 


D.  Appleion  it  Company's  Publication*. 

ILLUSTRATED  STANDARD  POETS. 

AMELIA'S  Poems.  Beautifully  Illustrated  by  Robert  W.  Weil 
Svo.  Cloth,  $2  50 ;  gilt  edges,  $3 ;  imperial  mor.,  $3  50 ;  morocco,  $4. 

BYRON'S  Complete  Poetical  Works.  Illustrated  with  elegant 
Steel  Engravings  and  Portrait  1  vol.,  Svo.,  fine  paper.  Cloth,  $8 
cloth,  gilt  leaves,  $4 ;  morocco  extra,  $6. 

Cheaper  Edition,  with  Portrait  and  4  Plates.  Im.  morocco,  $3;  with  Por 
trait  and  Vignette  only,  sheep  or  cloth,  $2  50. 

HALLECK'S  Complete  Poetical  Works.  Beautifully  Illus 
trated  with  fine  Steal  Engravings  and  a  Portrait  New  Edition.  Svo. 
Cloth,  $2  50 ;  cloth  extra,  gilt  edges,  $3 ;  morocco  extra,  $5. 

MOORE'S  Complete  Poetical  Works.  Illustrated  with  verv 
fine  Steel  Engravings  and  a  Portrait  1  vol.,  Svo.,  fine  paper.  Cloth, 
$3 ;  cloth,  gilt  edges,  $4 ;  morocco,  $6. 

Cheaper  Edition,  with  Portrait  and  4  Plates.  Im.  morocco,  $3;  with  Por 
trait  and  Vignette  only,  sheep  or  cloth,  $2  50. 

SOUTHEY'S  Complete  Poetical  Works.  With  several  beauti 
ful  Steel  Engravings.  1  voL,  Svo.,  fine  paper.  Cloth,  $3 ;  gilt  edgea, 
$4  50 ;  morocco,  $6  50. 

THE  SACRED  POETS  OF  ENGLAND  AND  AMERICA, 

for  Three  Centuries.  Edited  by  Kufus  W.  Griswold.  Illustrated  with 
12  Steel  Engravings.  Svo.  Cloth,  $2  50 ;  gilt  edges,  $3 ;  morocct 
extra,  $4  50. 

Cabinet  Editions,  at  greatly  Reduced  Prices. 

BUTLER'S  HUDIBRAS.  With  Notes  by  Nash.  Illustrated 
with  Portraits.  16mo.  Cloth,  $1 ;  gilt  edges,  $1  50 ;  moroc.  extra,  $2. 

BURNS'  Complete  Poetical  Works.  With  Life,  Glossary,  <fec 
16mo.  Cloth,  illustrated,  $1 ;  gilt  edges,  $1  50 ;  morocco  extra,  $2. 

CAMPBELL'S  Complete  Poetical  Works.  Illustrated  with 
Steel  Engravings  and  a  Portrait  16mo.  Cloth,  $1 ;  gilt  edges,  $1  50; 
morocco  extra,  $2. 

COWPER'S  Complete  Poetical  Works.  With  Life,  .fee.    2  vola 

in  1.    Cloth,  $1 ;  gilt,  $1  50 ;  morocco  extra,  $2. 
DANTE'S  Poems.    Translated  by  Carey.     Illustrated  with  a 

fine  Portrait  and  12  Engravings.    16mo.    Cloth,  $1 ;  gilt  edges,  $1  50 

morocco  extra,  $2. 

HEMANS'  Complete  Poetical  Works.  Edited  by  her  Sister 
2  vols.,  ICmo.  With  10  Steel  Plates.  Cloth,  $2;  gilt  edge*,  $3;  mo 
rocco  extra,  $4. 

MILTON'S  Complete  Poetical  Works.  With  Life,  <fec.  ISmo 
Cloth,  illustrated,  $1 ;  gilt  edges,  $1  50 ;  morocco  extra,  $2. 

TASSO'S  Jerusalem  Delivered.  Translated  by  Wiffen.  Illus 
trated.  1vol.,  16mo.  Uniform  with  "Dante."  Cloth,  $1 ;  gilt  edgea, 
$1  50 ;  morocco  extra,  $2. 

SCOTT'S  Poetical  Works.  With  Life,  <fcc.  Cloth,  16mo.,  illus 
tra/eil,  $1 ;  gilt,  ft  50;  morocco  extra,  $2. 


D.  Appleion  &  Company's  Publications. 


MISCELLANEOUS  WOEKS-Oontinued. 


LEE,  E.  B.    Life  of  Jeau  Paul  F. 

Ri.;hter.    l-2mo.    $1  25. 
LEGER'S  History  of  Animal  Mag- 


IBTTEB8  FBOM  THREE  CON 

TINENTS.     By   R.   M.    Ward.      l*mo. 

Cloth,*!. 

LOKD,  W.  "W.  Poems.  12mo.  75  a 
---     Christ    in    Hades. 

MACKINTOSH,  M.  J.    Woman  in 

America.     Cl-th,  H2  cts.  ;  paper,  38  cts. 

MAHON'S  (Lord)  Histoiy  of  Eng- 


MICHELET'S   History  of  France. 

2  Vols.,  Svo.     $3  50. 

Life  of  Martin  Lu- 


. 

History    of  Eoman 


12n 


Republic.    12mo.    *1. 

-  The  People.    12mo. 

Cloth,  63  cts.  :  paper,  38  cts. 

MATTHEWS  &  YOUNG.    Whist 

and  Short  W  hist.    18mo.  Cl  >th,  gilt,  45  ots. 

MILES  on  the  Horse's  Foot;  How 

to  Keep  it  Sound,  l-2mo.  Cuts,  25  cts. 
MILTON'S  Paradise  Lost.  38  cts. 
MOOEE,  C.  C.  Life  of  George  Cast- 

riot,  King  of  Albania.  ISinn.  Cloth,  $1. 
NAPOLEON,  Life  of,  from  the 

French  of  Laurent  de  1'Ardechen.     2  Vula. 
in  1.     Svo.     5ilO  Cuts.     Im.  mor.,  $3. 

GATES,  GEO.    Tables  of  Sterling 


Exchange,  from  £\  to  jEM.OuO—  fr 


l-8th 
half  per 


of  one  per  cent,  to  t 
cent.,  by  eighths,  etc.,  etc. 

Interest  Tables  at  6 


nt,  per  An 


per  cent,  per  A 


at  5  p 

JE1C>,0(>0.    4to. 


,  .        „. 

Abridged  Edit  $125. 
Interest  Tables  at  7 

num.     8vo.     *-2. 

Abridged  Edit.  $1  25. 
Sterling  Interest  Ta 

ent,  per  Annum,  from  £1  to 


OF    THE    UNITED  I  ANTHON'S  Law  Study  ;  or,  Guidet 

Duties,  &<\     12mo.*l.  to  the  Study  ol  the  Law.     Svo.     *3. 


,. 

O'CALLAGHAN'S  History  of  New- 

Yi.rk  under  the  Di^ch.     2  Vols/   *5. 

POWELL'S     Living    Authors     of 

REPUBLIC 

STATES  ;  Its 
ttEID'S    New    English  Dictionary, 

with  Derivations,     limn.     $1. 

RICHARDSON    on    Dogs.      Their 

Hist  >rv,  'I  treatment,  &c.    Cuts.     25  cts. 

ROBINSON  CRUSOE.    Only  com- 

pleie  Edition.    :VR)  Cuts     Svo.     $150. 

KOWAN'S   History  of  the  French 

Revolution.    -2  Vol».  in  ,.     63  cts. 

SOYEE'S  Modern  Domestic  Cook 

ery.     l-2mo.     Paper  cover,  75  cts.  ;  bd.,  *1. 

SCOTT'S   Lady  of   the  Lake.      88 
sants. 

2 


SCOTT'S  Marmion.    16ino.    37  eta. 
Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel 

25  cents. 

SELECT  Italian  Comedies.    Trans- 
SPR  AGUE'S  History  of  the  Florid* 

War.     .Map  und  Plates.     Svo.     $2  5IF. 

SHAKSPEARE'S  Dramatic  Work* 

and  Lit*.     1  Vol.,  Svo.     *2. 

SOUTHEY'S  Life  of  Oliver  Crom 
well.    ISmo.    Cloth,  38  cts. 
STEWART'S  Stable  Economy.  Edit- 

•d  by  A.  U.  Allen.     l-2mo.    lllustrjited.    |1 


SOUTHGATE  (Bishop).     Visit  to 


the 


Church,     la 


SQUIER'S  Nicaragua;    Its  People, 

Antiquities,  &c.   Alaps  and  Plates.    2  Vols., 
Svo.     *5. 

STEVENS'  Campaigns  of  the  Eio 

Grande  and  Mexico.     Svo.     Paper,  38  cU. 

SWETT,  Dr.    Treatise  on  the  Dis- 

eas^a  of  the  Chest.    Svo.    $8. 

TAYLOR,  Gen.     Anecdote   Book, 

Letters,  Ac.    Svo.  -25  cts. 

TUCKERMAN'S  Artist  Life.  Bio 
graphical  Sketches  of  American  Painters. 
limo.  Cloth,  75  cts. 

TAYLOR'S  Manual  of  Ancient  and 

Modem  History.     Edited  by  Prof.  Henry. 
Svo.     Cloth,  *i  -25  ;  sheep,  *4  50. 

THOMSON  on  the  Food  of  Anim»la 

and  .Man.     Cloth,  51)  cts.  ;  paper,  3S  cts. 

TYSON,  J.  L.     Diary  of  a  Physician 

in  California.     Svo.     Paper,  25  cts. 

WAYLAND'S  Recollections  of  Real 

Life  in  England.     ISmo.     31  cts. 

WILLIAMS'  Isthmus  of  Tehuante- 

pec;  Its  Uiiuate,  Productions,  &c.     Map« 
nnd  Plates.     '2  Vols.,  Svo.     $3  50. 

WOMAN'S    Worth  ;    or,    Hints    to 

Raise  the  Kemsle  Character.    18mo.   38  cts. 

WARNER'S  Rudimental  Lessons  in 

Music.     18rao.     50  eta. 

WYNNE,   J.     Lives   of  Eminent 

Literary  and   Scientific  Men  of  America. 


1-211 


Cloth,*! 


.  ,. 

WORDSWORTH,    W.     The    Pre 

lude.    An  Autobiographical  Poem.    limo. 
Cloth,  *1.  — 

LAW  BOOKS. 


.  .         . 

HOLCOMBE'S  Digest  of  the  Deci 


Supr 


Court  of  the  Unit«<" 
ncement  to  th 


Larg,-  8v,,.     Law  sheep,  * 

Supreme  Cour 


ing  Cases  in  C.niiii..rc;al  Law.    nvr..     »4. 

-  Law  of  Debtor  and 

Credit'  r  in  the  United  States  and  Canada. 
Svo.     J4. 

SMITH'S  Compendium  of  Mercan 

tile  Law.     With  large  American  addition* 
by  Holcombe  and  Gholvn.    Sv.i.    *4  60. 


D.  Appleton  <k  Company's  Publications. 


MINIATURE  CLASSICAL  LIBRARY. 


Published  in  Elegant  1 

POETIC  LACON;   or,  Aphorisms 

. 

BOND'S  Golden  Maxims.    81  cents. 
CLARKE'S     Scripture     Promises. 

ELIZABETH;  or,  The  Exiles  of 

OOLDSMITiit'S  Vicar  of  Wakefleld 
M  •  it*. 

Essays.    88  cents. 

GEMS  FROM  AMERICAN  POETS. 

HANNAH  MOEE'S  Private  Devo- 

liol  «.     31  cents. 

Practical  Piety. 

8  rols.     75  cents. 

HEMANS'  Domestic  Affections.    81 
HOFFMAN'S  Lays  of  the  Hudson, 

4c.     83  cant*. 


JOHNSON'S    History  of  Rasselai 

38  cents. 

MANUAL  OF  MATRIMONY.    81 

MOORE'S  Lallah  Rookh.    8S  cents. 
Melodies.    Complete.    83 

PAUL  AND  VIRGINIA.    31  ct& 
POLLOK'S  Course  of  Time.    88  eta 
PURE  GOLD  FROM  THE  RI VERS 

OF  WISDOM.    38  cents. 

THOMSON'S  Seasons.    38  cents. 
TOKEN  OF  THE  HEART.    DO. 

Of  AFFECTION.  DO.  OF  KEMKM- 
BRANCE.  DO.  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  DO. 
OF  LOVE.  Each  31  cents. 

USEFUL  LETTER- WRITER.    38 

WILSON'S  Sacra  Privata.   81  cents. 
YOUNG'S  Night  Thoughts.  83  fits. 


JUVENILE. 

rfUNT  FANNY'S  Christmas  Stories.    LIVES    AND    ANECDOTES    OF 

lll.»tr»ie.l.     K.  Hrd«.  X]  cts.  ;  cloth,  5o  els.  ILI.l'STRIOCS  MEN.     Ifim...     ISc.ts. 

AUNT  KITTY'S  Tales.    By  Maria  !  LOUISE;  or,  The  Beauty  of  Integ- 


.1.    \lell 

AMEKICAN  Historical  Tales.  16mo. 
BOYS'8'MANUAL.    Containing  the 

Principle  ,,i  •(•,,ii,luct.  *c.     18mo.     Suets. 

-  STORY  BOOK.   16mo.   T5  c. 
CARAVAN  (The).    A  collection  of 

r.i|nil:ir  KiuU-ru  Tales.    16mo.    lUualraU-d. 

FIRESIDE  FAIRIES;    or,  Even 

ings    at  Aunt  Elsie's.      Beautifully    lllus- 

FRIDAYnCIIRISTIAN  :   or,  The 

Khst-Bc.ni    on    Pitcaira's    Island.      16mo. 

GIRLS''  MANUAL.   Containing  the 

Principle  of  <  :..nduct.    Rn  cents. 

-  STORY  BOOK.  16mo.  75  c. 
GUIZOT'S  Young  Student    8  vols. 

HOWITT,   MAET.      Picture   and 

Verse  Book.  Commonly  called  Otto  Spec 
ter's  Fable  Book.  Illustrated  with  H'0 
Plates.  Cheap  Edition,  60  cents;  cloth,  63 

HOME  "RECREATIONS.  Edited  by 

Grandfather    Merryinan.     Colored    Plates. 

INNOCENCE    OF  CHILDHOOD. 


I'y  M'». 


l.lu 


. 

JOAN  OF  ARC,  Story  oC    By  R.  M. 

Kv.ins.      With  -»  ll'us.      !«'">.     15  els. 

LOUIS'  SCHOOL  DAYS.    By  E.  J. 

Mav.     tllusln.t-d.      liiin-.     IS  c!s. 

LEGENDS  OF  THE  FLO  WE  US. 

by  Susan  Pindar.     Iliu*.     Urn...     1J  cts. 


ty  ;  and  other  Tales.     16mo.     Boards,  31 
cents;  cloth.  38  cents. 

MARRYATT'S  Settlers  in  Canada. 

•1  vols.  in  1.    64  cts. 

Scenes  in  Africa.    3 


ols.  inl.    64  cents. 


•  Masterman  Ready.  8 

MIDSUMMER" FAYS;  or,  The  Ho 
lidays  at  Woodleigh.  By  Susai,  Pindar.  1 
vol..l«mo.  Cloth,  15  cents  ;  rl  ><h.  gilt,  fl. 

NO  SUCH  WORD  AS  FAIL.    By 

Cousin  Alice.     Ifim...     Ulna.     6-2  cents. 

HANNAH  MORE'S  Village  Tales. 
WILLIAMnTELL,  the  Patriot  of 

Switzerland.  To  which  is  added,  Andrea* 
Hofer,  the  "Tell"  of  the  Tyrol.  Cloth,  50 
cents;  half  cl"th.  88  cents. 

YOUTH'S  CORONAI*    By  H.  F. 

Gould,     liim.i.     iM  cents. 

PICTURE   STORY   BOOKS.    By 

Great  Authors  and  Great  Painter*.  Four 
imruinl  vol.  Cloth.  15  cts  :  gilt  rd?..  91. 

PUSS   IN   BOOTS.     Finely  Illii* 

tnit.-d  l,yOl!.'t-i»vter.  Square  ISnu.  lids., 
25  cts.  ;  elods.  3«  c's. ;  extra  gilt,  US  cU. 

ROBINSON    CRUSOE.      PiotorU. 

K.IIII  n.     X"  Phil  s.     *<  .     *1  5ft 

STORY  OF  LITTLE  JOHN.    Ilia*- 


t.-d.     ir. 


OF  A  GENIUS.    39  cts. 


YOUTH'S    BOOK  OF   NATURE, 

Illustrated.     l*iri...     15  cts. 

STORY  BOOK.     Itimu 


D.  Appleton  &  Company's  Publication*. 


THE  LITTLE  GIFT  BOOK.  18mo. 

Cl  lh.  i5  cents. 

THE  CHILD'S  STOET  BOOK.   II- 


JTJVENILE- 
ITncle  Amerel's  Story  Books. 


lusirutert.    l&mo.    Clnth,  SS  cenU. 

SUMMER    HOLIDAYS. 

Cloth,  25  cents. 


18  mo. 


WINTER  HOLIDAYS.  Illustrated 


GEORGE'S    ADVENTURES    IN 

THE  COUNTRY.  Ill.-s.  Ixmo.  Cloth,  45e. 

CHRISTMAS    STORIES.       Ilia* 

trated.     18mo.    Cloth,  25  cents. 


Mary  Hewitt's  Juvenile  Tales. 

New  Editions  bound  together,  entitled : 


POPULAR  MORAL  TALES. 
JUVENILE"TALES  AND  STO 


MY  JUVENILE  DAYS,  and  othe 
TALES  AND  STORIES  FOR  BOYS 

AND  GIRLS.    75  oents. 

Library  for  My  Young  Countrymen. 

Thi»  Series  is  edited  by  the  popular  author  of  "  Uncle  Philip's  Tales."    The  volumes  are 
' 


RIES.    16mo.    16  cents. 


•  and  style. 

LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES  OF 

HERNAN   CORTEZ.     By  the  Author  of 
"  Uncle  Philip."    3*  cents. 
PHILIP  RANDOLPH.    A  Tale  of 


ADVENTURES  OF  CAPT.  JOHN 

SMITH.  By  the  Author  of  "  Uncle  Philip." 

ADVENTURES      OF      DANIEL 

BOOXE.     Bvdo.    38  cents. 

DAWNINGS   OF   GENIUS.     By 

Ami-  Pratt.     38  cents.  FRENCH    REVOLUTION. 

LltfE    AND   ADVENTURES  OF       is  rents. 
I/E.NRY    HUDSON.    By  the  Author  of     SOUTHEY'S  LIFE    OF    OLIVER 
"  Uacle  Phil'  .."    38  cents.  CROMWELL.    38  cents. 


.     By  M 

ROWAN'S    HISTORY    OF    THE 


Tales  for  the  People  and  their  Children. 


ALICE    FRANKLIN      By   Mary 
CROFTON  BOYS  (The)  By  Harriet 

DANGERS  OF  DINING  OUT.  By 

Mis.  Kills.     38  cents. 

DOMESTIC  TALES.    By  Hannah 
EARLY2  FRIENDSHIP.    By  Mrs. 

Copley.    38  cents. 

FARMER'S    DAUGHTER  (The). 

liy  Mis.  Cameron.    38  rents. 

FIRST  IMPRESSIONS.    By  Mrs. 

HOPE  VN""HOPE  EVERI    By 

/MUCH  CARE.  By 
FOR    THE 


do.    38  cents. 

LOOKING  -  GLASS 


LOVE  AND  MONEY.  By  Mary 
MINISTEBT9  FAMU.T.  By  Mrs. 
By  Mary 


MY 

Hui 


OWN    STORY. 

itt.    38  cents. 


MY     UNCLE,      THE      CLOCK- 
MAKER.     Bv  Marv  Howitt.    88  oents. 
NO     SENSE     LIKE     COMMON 

SENSE.     By  do.     S3  c.-nts. 

PEASANT  AND  THE  PRINCE. 

Bv  H.  Martineau.     48  cents. 

POPLAR  GROVE.  By  Mrs.  Cop- 
SOMERVILLE  HALL.  By  Mrs. 
SOWING^AND  REAPING.  By 

Mnrv  H.iwitt.     38  cents. 

STRIVE  AND  THRIVE.  By  do. 
THE"TWO  APPRENTICEa  By 
TIRED  ""OF  HOUSEKEEPING. 

By  T.  S.  Arthur.    38  c*nts. 

TWIN  SISTERS  (The).    By  Mra 

Sandham.    38  c .-nt«. 

WHICH  IS   THE  WISER?     By 

Marv  H'.witt.     38oi>nts. 

WHO  SHALL  BE   GREATEST? 


WORK    AND   WAGES.     By  <Ux 


SECOXD    SERIES. 


CHANCES  AND  CHANGES.    By 


QOLDM/'vER'S   VILLAGE. 

H.  /.soli  1-.    .    Scents. 

3 


By 


NEVER  TOO  LATE.    By  Charles 

OCEAN  WORK,  Ancient  and  Mo 
dem.    By  J.  H.  Wrigbt. 


MISS  SEWELL'S  WORKS, 
PUBLISHED  BY  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY. 

THE  EARL'S  DAUGHTE1. 

A  TALE. 

•T  THB   AUTHOR   OP    "  AMY  HERBERT,"   "  GERTRUDE,"  ETC.,   BTO. 

EDITED  BY  THE  EEV.  W.  SEWELL. 
One  volume  12mo.,  paper  cover,  50  cents  ;  cloth,  75  cents. 

"The  scenes  of  this  work  are  portrayed  with  a  delicacy  and  a  natural 
pathos  that  give  to  them  an  irresistible  attraction." — Courier  If  Enquirer. 

14  It  deserves,  and  will  doubtless  receive,  an  extended  circulation,  and  will 
do  good  wherever  it  may  eo." — Newark  Adv. 

•'  It  is  a  romance  that  the  most  fastidious  objector  to  novel  reading  might 
peruse  with  advantage  as  well  as  wiih  pleasure." — Western  Palladium. 

"  We  are  disposed  to  rank  this  work,  in  point  of  talent,  more  highly  thai 
«ny  of  Miss  SewelPs  previous  volumes." 

"It  is  pleasant  to  recommend  a  volume  like  this,  which  every  mother 
can  place  in  her  daughter's  hand  with  the  certainty  that  the  lessons  it  teachea 
must  strengthen  within  herevery  virtuous  thought,  and  better  prepare  her  to 
pass  worthily  through  the  conflict  of  life.  We  cannot  do  the  reading  public 
a  better  service  than  to  recommend  the  circulation  of  this  work."— Albany 
State  Register. 

BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR. 
MARGARET  PERCIVAL :  A  TALE. 

Editad  by  the  Rev.  WM.  SKWELL,  B.  A.    2  vols.  12mo.,  paper  coyer,  •!: 
cloth,  SI  50. 

GERTRUDE:   A  TALE. 

Edited  by  the  Rev.  Wx.  SEWELL,  B.  A.    12mo.,  cloth,  75  cents;  papw 
cover,  50  cents. 

AMY  HERBERT:  A  TALE. 

Edited  by  the  Rer.  Wjc.  SEWELL,  B.  A.    1  TO).  12mo.,  cloth,  75  cent* ;  papa 
cover,  50  cents. 

LANETON  PARSONAGE:  A  TALE. 

Edited  by  the  Rev.  WM.  SBWELL,  B.  A.    3  vols.  12mo.,  cloth,  *2  25;  papw 
cover,  $1  50. 

WALTER  LORIMER,VAND  OTHER  TALES. 

12mo.,  cloth,  75  cents. 

THE  CHILD'S  FIRST^HISTORY  OF  ROME, 

One  volume  16mo.,  50  cento. 


BY    SUSAN     PINDAR. 

Now  ready,  a  New  Edition. 

FIEESIDE    FAIEIES  ; 

OR,  CHRISTMAS  AT  AUNT  ELSIE'S. 

Beautifully  illustrated,  with  Original  Designs.    1  vol.  12mo.   75  cts.,  gilt  ed.  f  I 

Contents. 

The  Two  Voices,  or  the  Shadow  and  the  Shadowless.  The  Minute  Fairiet. 
I  Hav«i  and  O  Had  I.  The  Hump  and  Long  Nose.  The  Lily  Fairy  and  th« 
Silver  Beam.  The  Wonderful  Watch.  The  Red  and  White  Rose  Tree*. 
The  Diamond  Fountain.  The  Magical  Key. 

Though  this  is  a  small  book,  it  is,  mechanically,  exceedingly  beautiful,  be 
ing  illustrated  with  spirited  woodcuts  from  Original  Designs.  But  that  is  its 
least  merit.  It  is  one  of  the  most  entertaining,  and  decidedly  one  of  the  be' 
juveniles  that  have  issued  from  the  prolific  press  of  this  city.  We  speak  ad 
visedly.  It  is  long  since  we  found  time  to  read  through  a  juvenile  book,  so 
near  Christmas,  when  the  name  of  this  class  of  volumes  is  legion  ;  but  this 
charmed  us  so  much  that  we  were  unwilling  to  lay  it  down  after  once  com 
mencing  it.  The  first  story,—'1  The  Two  Voices,  or  the  Shadow  and  die 
Shadowless," — is  a  sweet  thing,  as  is  also  the  one  entitled, "  The  Diamond 
Fountain."  Indeed,  the  whole  number,  and  there  are  ten,  will  be  read  witfc 
aridity.  Their  moral  is  as  pure  as  their  style  is  enchanting. — Com.  Adv. 

D.  Appleton  $  Co.  have  just  ready, 

A  NEW  UNIFORM  SERIES  FOR  BOYS  AND  GIRL& 

BY  AMEEEL. 

COMPRISING 

1.  CHRISTMAS  STORIES,  for  Good  Children.    Illustrated.    16m*. 

II.  WINTER  HOLIDAYS.    A  Story  for  Children.    Illustrated.    IGrao. 

III.  THE  SUMMER  HOLIDAYS.    A  Story  for  Children.     Illus.     IGmu 

IV.  GEORGE'S  ADVENTURES  IN  THE  COUNTRY.    Illut.     16mo. 
V    THE  CHILD'S  STORY  BOOK.    A  Holiday  Gift.    IUu».     16mo. 

VI    THE  LITTLE  GIFT-BOOK.  For  Good  Boy.  and  Girl..   Illoi    16n» 


/4"/ 


• 


1^U~~* 


o  -2  /  -  a-  2 


_ 


—  £  J 


— 


7 


This  book  n  DUE  on  the  last 
date  stamped  below. 


UCLA-Young  Research   Library 

PS3329  .W385J 
yr 


PS 


£   3329       £  journal  of 
flp   .;38£j     summer  time 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


